STOVER  AT  YALE 


STOVER  AT  YALE 


BY 
OWEN  JOHNSON 

Author  of  "  The* Varmint,"  "  The  Tennessee  Shad,"  etc. 


WITH  EIGHT  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  BLACK-AND-WHITE  BY 

FREDERICK  R.  GRUGER 


NEW  YORK 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


-  7.2. 

Copyright,  /p/7,  by 

THE  S.  S.  MCCLURE  Co. 

Copyright,  IQII,  igia,  by 

THE  MCCLURE  PUBLICATIONS,  INC. 


Copyright,  igia,  by 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of  translation  into  foreign 
languages^  including  the  Scandinavian 

IN  MEMORIAM 


r..«** 

April,  igia 


Si 

M/VIVJ 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Together  they  went  choking  through  the  crowd  "    . 

Frontispiece 


FACING 
PAGE 


:t  'Hello,'  said  Rogers'  quiet  voice.     'Well,  what  do 

you  want  ?  ' ' 20 

"  'I  come  not  to  stultify  myself  in  the  fumes  of  li 
quor,  but  to  do  you  good'  " 90 

"The  period  of  duns  set  in,  and  the  house  became  a 

place  of  mystery  and  signals" 202 

"Oh,  father  and  mother  pay  all  the  bills,  and  we  have 

all  the  fun" 230 


Life's  real  to  those  fellows;  they're  fighting  for 

something' " 254 

"Regan  was  his  one  friend" 286 

"  'Curse  the  man  who  invented  fish-house  punch'  "    .  292 


STOVER  AT  YALE 


STOVER  AT  YALE 


CHAPTER  I 

DINK  STOVER,  freshman,  chose  his  seat  in  the 
afternoon  express  that  would  soon  be  rushing  him 
to  New  Haven  and  his  first  glimpse  of  Yale  University. 
He  leisurely  divested  himself  of  his  trim  overcoat,  folding 
it  in  exact  creases  and  laying  it  gingerly  across  the  back 
of  his  seat;  stowed  his  traveling-bag;  smoothed  his  hair 
with  a  masked  movement  of  his  gloved  hand;  pulled 
down  a  buckskin  vest,  opening  the  lower  button;  re 
moved  his  gloves  and  folded  them  in  his  breast  pocket, 
while  with  the  same  gesture  a  careful  forefinger,  unper- 
ceived,  assured  itself  that  his  lilac  silk  necktie  was  in 
snug  contact  with  the  high  collar  whose  points,  painfully 
but  in  perfect  style,  attacked  his  chin.  Then,  settling, 
not  flopping,  down,  he  completed  his  preparations  for  the 
journey  by  raising  the  sharp  crease  of  the  trousers  one 
inch  over  each  knee  —  a  legendary  precaution  which  in 
youth  is  believed  to  prevent  vulgar  bagging.  Each  move 
ment  was  executed  without  haste  or  embarrassment,  but 
leisurely,  with  the  deliberate  savoir-faire  of  the  complete 
man  of  the  world  he  had  become  at  the  terrific  age  of 
eighteen. 

In  front  of  him  spasmodic  freshmen  arrived,  strug 
gling  from  their  overcoats  in  embarrassed  plunges  that 
threatened  to  leave  them  publicly  in  their  shirt  sleeves. 

1 


;$•;•;::     ;  /STOVER    AT    YALE 

That  they  imputed  to  him  the  superior  dignity  of  an  upper 
classman  was  pleasurably  evident  to  Stover  from  their 
covert  respectful  glances.  He  himself  felt  conscious  of 
a  dividing-line.  He,  too,  was  a  freshman,  and  yet  not 
of  them. 

He  had  just  ended  three  years  at  Lawrenceville,  where 
from  a  ridiculous  beginning  he  had  fought  his  way  to 
the  captaincy  of  the  football  eleven  and  the  vice-presi 
dency  of  the  school.  He  had  been  the  big  man  in  a  big 
school,  and  the  sovereign  responsibilities  of  that  anointed 
position  had  been,  of  course,  such  that  he  no  longer  felt 
himself  a  free  agent.  He  had  been  of  the  chosen,  and 
not  all  at  once  could  he  divest  himself  of  the  idea  that 
his  slightest  action  had  a  certain  public  importance. 
His  walk  had  been  studiously  imitated  by  twenty  shuf 
fling  striplings.  His  hair,  parted  on  the  side,  had  caused 
a  revolution  among  the  brushes  and  stirred  up  innumer 
able  indignant  cowlicks.  His  tricks  of  speech,  his  favor 
ite  exclamations,  had  become  at  once  lip-currency.  At 
that  time  golf  and  golf-trousers  were  things  of  unthink 
able  daring.  He  had  given  his  approval,  appeared  in  the 
baggy  breeches,  and  at  once  the  ban  on  bloomers  had 
been  lifted  and  the  Circle  had  swarmed  with  the  gro- 
tesqueries  of  variegated  legs  for  the  first  time  boldly 
revealed.  He  had  stood  between  the  school  and  its 
tyrants.  He  had  arrayed  himself  in  circumstantial  attire 
—  boiled  shirt,  high  collar,  and  carefully  dusted  derby  — 
and  appeared  before  the  faculty  with  solemn,  responsible 
face  no  less  than  three  separate  times,  to  voice  the  protest 
of  four  hundred  future  American  citizens :  first,  at  the 
insidious  and  alarming  repetition  of  an  abhorrent  article 
of  winter  food  known  as  scrag-birds  and  sinkers ;  second, 
to  urge  the  overwhelming  necessity  of  a  second  sleighing 
holiday;  and,  third  and  most  important,  firmly  to  assure 


STOVER    AT    YALE  3 

the  powers  that  be  that  the  school  viewed  with  indigna 
tion  and  would  resist  to  despair  the  sudden  increase  of 
the  already  staggering  burden  of  the  curriculum. 

The  middle-aged  faculty  had  listened  gravely  to  the 
grave  expounder  of  such  grave  demands,  had  promised 
reform  and  regulation  in  the  matter  of  the  sinkers, 
granted  the  holiday,  and  insufficiently  modified  the  brutal 
attempt  at  injecting  into  the  uneager  youthful  mind  a 
little  more  of  the  inconsequential  customs  of  the  Greeks 
and  Romans. 

The  Doctor  had  honored  him  with  his  confidence,  con 
sulted  him  on  several  intimate  matters  of  school  disci 
pline  —  in  fact,  most  undoubtedly  had  rather  leaned 
upon  him.  As  he  looked  back  upon  the  last  year  at 
Lawrenceville,  he  could  not  help  feeling  a  certain  whole 
some,  pleasant  satisfaction.  He  had  held  up  an  honest 
standard,  he  had  played  hard  but  square,  disdained  petty 
offenses,  seen  to  the  rigorous  bringing  up  of  the  younger 
boys,  and,  as  men  of  property  must  lend  their  support 
to  the  church,  he  had  even  publicly  advised  a  moderate 
attention  to  the  long  classic  route  which  leads  to  college. 
He  had  been  the  big  man  in  the  big  school;  what  new 
opportunity  lay  before  him? 

In  the  seat  ahead  two  of  his  class  were  exchanging 
delighted  conjectures,  and  their  conversation,  coming  to 
his  ears  clearly  through  the  entangled  murmur  of  the 
car,  began  to  interest  him. 

"  I  say,  Schley,  you  were  Hotchkiss,  weren't  you  ?  " 

"  Eight  mortal  years." 

"  Got  a  good  crowd  ?  " 

"  No  wonder-workers,  but  a  couple  of  good  men  for 
the  line.  What's  your  Andover  crowd  like  ?  " 

"  We  had  a  daisy  bunch,  but  some  of  the  pearls  have 
been  side-tracked  to  Princeton  and  Harvard." 


4  STOVER    AT    YALE 

"Bought  up,  eh?" 

"  Sure,"  said  the  speaker,  with  the  profoundest  con 
viction. 

"  Big  chance,  McNab,  for  the  eleven  this  year,"  said 
Schley,  in  a  thin,  anemic,  authoritative  sort  of  way. 
"Play  football  yourself?" 

"  Sure  —  if  any  one  will  kick  me,"  said  McNab,  who 
in  fact  had  a  sort  of  roly-poly  resemblance  to  the  neces 
sary  pigskin.  "  Lord,  I'm  no  strength-breaker.  I'm  a 
funny  man,  side-splitting  joker,  regular  cut-up  —  didos 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  What  are  you  out  for?" 

"  A  good  time  first,  last,  and  always." 

"Am  I?  Just  ask  me!"  said  McNab  explosively; 
and  in  a  justly  aggrieved  tone  he  added :  "  Lord,  haven't 
I  slaved  like  a  mule  ten  years  to  get  there !  I  don't  know 
how  long  it'll  last,  but  while  it  does  it  will  be  a  lulu ! " 

"  My  old  dad  gave  me  a  moral  lecture." 

"  Sure.  Opportunity  —  character  —  beauty  of  the 
classics  —  hope  to  be  proud  of  my  son  —  you're  a  man 
now  — " 

"  That's  it." 

"  Sure  thing.  Lord,  we'll  be  doing  the  same  twenty- 
five  years  from  now,"  said  McNab,  who  thus  logically 
and  to  his  own  satisfaction  disposed  of  this  fallacy.  He 
added  generously,  however,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand: 
"A  father  ought  to  talk  that  way  —  the  right  thing  — 
wouldn't  care  a  flip  of  a  mule's  tail  for  my  dad  if  he 
didn't.  And  say,  by  gravy,  he  sort  of  got  me,  too  — 
damned  impressive ! " 

"Really?" 

"  Honor  bright."  A  flicker  of  reminiscent  convictions 
passed  over  McNab's  frolicking  face.  "  Yes,  and  I  made 
a  lot  of  resolutions,  too  —  good  resolutions." 

"Come  off!" 


STOVER    AT    YALE  5 

"  Well,  that  was  day  before  yesterday/' 

The  train  started  with  a  sudden  crunching.  A  curi 
ous,  excited  thrill  possessed  Stover.  He  had  embarked, 
and  the  quick  plunge  into  the  darkness  of  the  long  tunnel 
had,  to  his  keenly  sentimental  imagination,  something  of 
the  dark  transition  from  one  world  into  another.  Be 
hind  was  the  known  and  the  accomplished;  ahead  the 
coming  of  man's  estate  and  man's  freedom.  He  was  his 
own  master  at  last,  free  to  go  and  to  come,  free  to  ven 
ture  and  to  experience,  free  to  know  that  strange, 
guarded  mystery  —  life  —  and  free,  knowing  it,  to  choose 
from  among  it  many  ways. 

And  yet,  he  felt  no  lack  of  preparation.  Looking 
back,  he  could  honestly  say  to  himself  that  where  a  year 
ago  he  had  seen  darkly  now  all  was  clear.  He  had  found 
himself.  He  had  gambled.  He  had  consumed  surrepti 
tiously  at  midnight  a  sufficient  quantity  of  sickening  beer. 
He  had  consorted  with  men  of  uncontrollable  passions 
and  gone  his  steady  path.  He  had  loved,  hopelessly, 
madly,  with  all  the  intensity  and  honesty  of  which  he 
was  capable,  a  woman  —  a  slightly  older  woman  —  who 
had  played  with  the  fragile  wings  of  his  boy's  illusion 
and  left  them  wounded ;  he  had  fought  down  that  weak 
ness  and  learned  to  look  on  a  soft  cheek  and  challenging 
eye  with  the  calm,  amused  control  of  a  man,  who  in 
vincibly  henceforth  would  cast  his  life  among  men. 
'There  was  not  much  knowledge  of  life,  if  any,  that  could 
come  to  him.  He  did  not  proclaim  it,  but  quietly,  as  a 
great  conviction,  heritage  of  sorrow  and  smashing  dis- 
illusionments,  he  knew  it  was  so.  He  knew  it  all  —  he 
was  a  man ;  and  this  would  give  him  an  advantage  among 
his  younger  fellows  in  the  free  struggle  for  leadership 
that  was  now  opening  to  his  joyful  combative  nature. 

"  It'll  be  a  good  fight,  and  I'll  win,"  he  said  to  himself, 


6  STOVER    AT    YALE 

and  his  crossed  arms  tightened  with  a  quick,  savage  con 
traction,  as  if  the  idea  were  something  that  could  be 
pursued,  tackled,  and  thrown  headlong  to  the  ground. 

"  There's  a  couple  of  fellows  from  Lawrenceville  com 
ing  up,"  said  a  voice  from  a  seat  behind  him.  "  Mc 
Carthy  and  Stover,  they  say,  are  quite  wonders." 

"  I've  heard  of  Stover;  end,  wasn't  he?" 

"  Yes ;  and  the  team's  going  to  need  ends  badly." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  heard  his  name  published 
abroad.  He  sat  erect,  drawing  up  one  knee  and  locking 
his  hands  over  it  in  a  strained  clasp.  Suddenly  the 
swimming  vista  of  the  smoky  cars  disappeared,  rolling 
up  into  the  tense,  crowded,  banked  arena,  with  white 
splotches  of  human  faces,  climbing  like  daisy  fields  that 
moved  restlessly,  nervously  stirred  by  the  same  expectant 
tensity  with  which  he  stood  on  the  open  field  waiting  for 
his  chance  to  come. 

"  I  like  a  fight  —  a  good  fight,"  he  said  to  himself, 
drawing  in  his  breath ;  and  the  wish  seemed  but  a  simple 
one,  the  call  for  the  joyful  shock  of  bodies  in  fair  combat. 
And  life  was  nothing  else  —  a  battle  in  the  open  where 
courage  and  a  thinking  mind  must  win. 

"  I'll  bet  we  get  a  lot  of  fruits,"  said  Schley's  rather 
calculating  voice. 

"  Oh,  some  of  them  aren't  half  bad." 

"Think  so?" 

"  I  say,  what  do  you  know  about  this  society  game  ?  " 

"  Look  out." 

"What's  matter?" 

"You  chump,  you  never  know  who's  around  you." 
As  he  spoke,  Schley  sent  an  uneasy  glance  back  toward 
Stover,  and,  dropping  his  voice,  continued :  "  You  don't 
talk  about  such  things." 

"Well,  I'm  not  shouting  it  out,"  said  McNab,  who 


STOVER    AT    YALE  7 

looked  at  his  more  sophisticated  companion  with  a  little 
growing  antagonism.  "  What  are  you  scared  about  ?  " 

"  It's  the  class  ahead  of  you  that  counts,"  said  Schley 
hurriedly,  "  the  sophomore  and  senior  societies ;  the 
junior  fraternities  don't  count;  if  you're  in  a  sophomore 
you  always  go  into  them." 

"  Never  heard  of  the  sophomore  societies,"  said  Mc- 
Nab,  in  a  maliciously  higher  tone.  "  Elucidate  some 
what." 

"  There  are  three :  He  Boule,  Eta  Phi,  and  Kappa 
Psi,"  said  Schley,  with  another  uneasy,  squirming  glance 
back  at  Stover.  "  They're  secret  as  the  deuce ;  seven 
teen  men  in  each  —  make  one  and  you're  in  line  for  a 
senior." 

"  How  the  deuce  did  you  get  on  to  all  this  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  been  coached  up." 

Something  in  the  nascent  sophistication  of  Schley  dis 
pleased  Stover.  He  ceased  to  listen,  occupying  himself 
with  an  interested  examination  of  the  figures  who  passed 
from  time  to  time  in  the  aisle,  in  search  of  returning 
friends.  The  type  was  clearly  defined;  alert,  clean-cut, 
self-confident,  dressed  on  certain  general  divisions,  affect 
ing  the  same  style  of  correct  hat  and  collar,  with,  as 
distinguishing  features,  a  certain  boyish  exuberance  and 
a  distinct  nervous  energy. 

At  this  moment  an  abrupt  resonant  voice  said  at  his 
side: 

"  Got  a  bit  of  room  left  beside  you?  " 

Stover  shifted  his  coat,  saying : 

"  Certainly ;  come  on  in." 

He  saw  a  man  of  twenty-two  or  -three,  with  the  head 
and  shoulders  of  a  bison,  sandy  hair,  with  a  clear,  blue, 
steady  glance,  heavy  hands,  and  a  face  already  set  in 
the  mold  of  stern  purpose.  He  stood  a  moment,  holding 


S  STOVERATYALE 

a  decrepit  handbag  stuffed  to  the  danger  point,  hesitating 
whether  to  stow  it  in  the  rack  above,  and  then  said : 

"  Guess  I  won't  risk  it.  That's  my  trunk.  I'll  tuck 
it  in  here."  He  settled  in  the  vacant  seat,  saying: 
"  What  are  you  —  an  upper  classman?  " 

Something  like  a  spasm  passed  over  the  well-ironed 
shoulders  of  Schley  in  front. 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  said  Stover,  and,  extending  his  hand, 
he  said :  "  I  guess  we're  classmates.  My  name's 
Stover." 

"  My  name's  Regan  —  Tom  Regan.  Glad  to  know 
you.  I'm. sorry  you're  not  an  upper  classman,  though." 

"  Why  so  ?  "  said  Stover. 

"  I  wanted  to  get  a  few  pointers,"  said  Regan,  in  a 
matter-of-fact  way.  "  I'm  working  my  way  through  and 
I  want  to  know  the  ropes." 

"  I  wish  I  knew,"  said  Stover,  with  instinctive  liking 
for  the  blunt  elemental  force  beside  him.  "  What  are 
you  going  to  try  ?  " 

"  Anything  —  waiting,  to  start  in  with."  He  gave  him 
a  quick  glance.  "  That's  not  your  trouble,  is  it  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  It's  a  glorious  feeling,  to  be  going  up,  I  tell  you" 
said  Regan,  with  a  sudden  lighting  up  of  his  rugged 
features.  "  Can  hardly  believe  it.  I've  been  up  against 
those  infernal  examinations  six  times,  and  I'd  have  gone 
up  against  them  six  more  but  I'd  down  them." 

"  Where  did  you  come  from?  " 

"  Pretty  much  everywhere.  Des  Moines,  Iowa,  at  the 
last." 

"  It's  a  pretty  fine  college,"  said  Stover,  with  a  new 
thrill. 

"  It's  a  college  where  you  stand  on  your  own  feet,  all 
square  to  the  wind,"  said  Regan,  with  conviction. 


STOVER   AT   YALE  9 

"That's   what   got  me.     It's   worth   everything  to  get 
here." 

"  You're  right." 

"  I  wonder  if  I  could  get  hold  of  some  upper  class 
man,"  said  Regan  uneasily. 

That  this  natural  desire  should  be  the  most  unnatural 
in  the  world  was  already  clear  to  Stover;  only,  some 
how,  he  did  not  like  to  look  into  Regan's  eyes  and  make 
him  understand. 

"  How  are  you,  Stover  ?    Glad  to  see  you." 

Dink,  looking  up,  beheld  the  erect  figure  and  well- 
mannered  carriage  of  Le  Baron,  a  sophomore,  already  a 
leader  of  his  class,  whom  he  had  met  during  the  summer. 
In  the  clean-cut  features  and  naturally  modulated  voice 
there  was  a  certain  finely  aristocratic  quality  that  won 
rather  than  provoked. 

Stover  was  on  his  feet  at  once,  a  little  embarrassed 
despite  himself,  answering  hurriedly  the  questions  ad 
dressed  to  him. 

"  Get  your  room  over  in  York  Street  ?  Good.  You're 
in  a  good  crowd.  You  look  a  little  heavier.  In  good 
shape  ?  Your  class  will  have  to  help  us  out  on  the  eleven 
this  year." 

Stover  introduced  Regan.  Le  Baron  at  once  was 
sympathetic,  gave  many  hints,  recommended  certain  peo 
ple  to  see,  and  smilingly  offered  his  services. 

"  Come  around  any  time ;  I'll  put  you  in  touch  with 
several  men  that  will  be  of  use  to  you.  Get  out  for  the 
team  right  off  —  that'll  make  you  friends."  Then,  turn 
ing  to  Stover,  he  added,  with  just  a  shade  of  difference 
in  his  tone :  "  I  was  looking  for  you  particularly.  I 
want  you  to  dine  with  me  to-night.  I'll  be  around  about 
seven.  Awfully  glad  you're  here.  At  seven." 

He  passed  on,  giving  his  hand  to  the  right  and  left. 


10  STOVERATYALE 

Stover  felt  as  if  he  had  received  the  accolade.  Schley 
ahead  was  squirmingly  impressed;  one  or  two  heads 
across  the  aisle  turned  in  his  direction,  wondering  who 
could  be  the  freshman  whom  Le  Baron  so  particularly 
took  under  his  protection. 

"  Isn't  he  a  king  ?  "  he  said  enthusiastically  to  Regan, 
with  just  a  pardonable  pleasure  in  his  exuberance.  "  He 
made  the  crew  last  year  —  probably  be  captain;  sub- 
tackle  on  the  eleven.  I  played  against  him  two  years  ago 
when  he  was  at  Andover.  Isn't  he  a  king,  though !  " 

"  I  don't  know/'  said  Regan,  with  a  drawing  of  his 
lips. 

Stover  was  astounded. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Don't  know." 

"What's  wrong?" 

"  Hard  to  tell.  He  sizes  up  for  a  man  all  right,  but 
I  don't  think  we'd  agree  on  some  things." 

The  incident  momentarily  halted  the  conversation. 
Stover  wras  a  little  irritated  at  what  seemed  to  him  his 
companion's  over-sensitiveness.  Le  Baron  had  been 
more  than  kind  in  his  proffer  of  help.  He  was  at  a  loss 
to  understand  why  Regan  should  not  see  him  through 
his  eyes. 

"  You  think  I'm  finicky,"  said  Regan,  breaking  the 
silence. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Stover  frankly. 

"  I  guess  you  and  I'll  understand  each  other,"  said 
Regan,  approving  of  his  directness.  "  Perhaps  I  am 
wrong.  But,  boy,  this  place  means  a  great  deal  to  me, 
and  the  men  that  are  in  it  and  lead  it." 

"  It's  the  one  place  where  money  makes  no  difference," 
said  Stover,  with  a  flash  — "  where  you  stand  for  what 
you  are." 


STOVER    AT    YALE 

Regan  turned  to  him. 

"  I've  fought  to  get  here,  and  I'll  have  a  fight  to  stay. 
It  means  something  to  me." 

The  train  began  to  slacken  in  the  New  Haven  station. 
They  swarmed  out  on  to  the  platform  amid  the  return 
ing  gleeful  crowd,  crossing  and  intercrossing,  caught  up 
in  the  hubbub  of  shouted  recognition. 

"Hello,  Stuffy!" 

"There's  Stuffy  Davis!" 

"  Hello,  boys." 

"  Oh,  Jim  Thompson,  have  we  your  eye  ?  " 

"  Come  on." 

"  Get  the  crowd  together." 

"  All  into  a  hack." 

"Back  again,  Bill!" 

"  Join  you  later.     I've  got  a  freshman." 

"Where  you  rooming?" 

"  See  you  at  Mory's." 

Buffeted  by  the  crowd  they  made  their  way  across  the 
depot  to  the  street. 

"  I'm  going  to  hoof  it,"  said  Regan,  extending  his 
hand.  "  Glad  to  have  met  you.  I'll  drop  in  on  you 
soon." 

Stover  watched  him  go  stalwartly  through  the  crowd, 
his  bag  under  one  arm,  his  soft  hat  set  a  little  at  defiance, 
looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  left. 

"Why  the  deuce  did  he  say  that  about  Le  Baron?" 
he  thought,  with  a  feeling  of  irritation. 

Then,  obeying  an  impulse,  he  signaled  an  expressman, 
consigned  his  bag,  and  made  his  way  on  foot,  dodging  in 
and  out  of  the  rapidly  filled  hacks,  where  upper  classmen 
sat  four  on  the  seat,  hugging  one  another  with  bearlike 
hugs. 

"  Eh,  freshman,  take  off  that  hat ! " 


12  STOVER    AT    YALE 

He  removed  his  derby  immediately,  bowing  to  a 
hilarious  crowd,  who  rocked  ahead  shouting  back  unin 
telligible  gibes  at  him. 

Others  were  clinging  to  car  steps  and  straps. 

"Hello,  Dink!" 

Some  one  had  called  him  but  he  could  not  discover 
who.  He  swung  down  the  crowded  street  to  the  heart 
of  the  city  in  the  rapid  dropping  of  the  twilight.  There 
was  a  dampness  underfoot  that  sent  to  him  long,  waver 
ing  reflections  from  early  street-lamps.  The  jumble  of 
the  city  was  in  his  ears,  the  hazy,  crowded  panorama  in 
his  eyes,  at  his  side  the  passing  contact  of  strangers. 
Everything  was  multiplied,  complex,  submerging  his  in 
dividuality. 

But  this  feeling  of  multitude  did  not  depress  him. 
He  had  come  to  conquer,  and  zest  was  in  his  step  and 
alertness  in  his  glance.  Out  of  the  churning  of  the 
crowd  he  passed  into  the  clear  sweep  of  the  city  Com 
mon,  and,  looking  up  through  the  mist,  for  the  first  time 
beheld  the  battlements  of  the  college  awaiting  him  ahead, 
lost  in  the  hazy  elms. 

Across  the  quiet  reaches  of  the  Common  he  went 
slowly,  incredibly,  toward  these  strange  shapes  in  brick 
and  stone.  The  evening  mist  had  settled.  They  were 
things  undefined  and  mysterious,  things  as  real  as  the 
things  of  his  dreams.  He  passed  on  through  the  portals 
of  Phelps  Hall,  hearing  above  his  head  for  the  first  time 
the  echoes  of  his  own  footsteps  against  the  resounding 
vault. 

Behind  him  remained  the  city,  suddenly  hushed.  He 
was  on  the  campus,  the  Brick  Row  at  his  left;  in  the 
distance  the  crowded  line  of  the  fence,  the  fence  where 
he  later  should  sit  in  joyful  conclave.  Somewhere  there 
in  the  great  protecting  embrace  of  these  walls  were  the 


STOVER    AT    YALE  la 

* 

friends  that  should  be  his,  that  should  pass  with  himr 
through  those  wonderful  years  of  happiness  and  good 
fellowship  that  were  coming. 

"  And  this  is  it  —  this  is  Yale,"  he  said  reverently,  with 
a  little  tightening  of  the  breath. 

They  had  begun  at  last  —  the  happy,  care-free  years 
that  every  one  proclaimed.  Four  glorious  years,  good 
times,  good  fellows,  and  a  free  and  open  fight  to  be 
among  the  leaders  and  leave  a  name  on  the  roll  of  fame. 
Only  four  years,  and  then  the  world  with  its  perplexities 
and  grinding  trials. 

"Four  years,"  he  said  softly.     "The  best,  the  hap- 
"  piest  I'll  ever  know !     Nothing  will  ever  be  like  them  — 
nothing ! " 

And,  carried  away  with  the  confident  joy  of  it,  he  went 
toward  his  house,  shoulders  squared,  with  the  step  of  a 
d'Artagnan  and  a  song  sounding  in  his  ears. 


CHAPTER  II 

HE  found  the  house  in  York  Street,  a  low,  white 
washed  frame  building,  luminous  under  the  black 
canopy  of  the  overtowering  elms.  At  the  door  there 
was  a  little  resistance  and  a  guarded  voice  cried : 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"  I  want  to  get  in." 

"What  for?" 

"  Because  I  want  to." 

"  Very  sorry,"  said  McNab's  rather  squeaky  voice  — 
"  most  particular  sorry ;  but  this  house  is  infected  with 
yellow  fever  and  the  rickets,  and  we  wouldn't  for  the 
world  share  it  with  the  sophomore  class  —  oh,  no ! " 

A  light  began  to  dawn  over  Stover. 

"  I'm  rooming  here,"  he  said. 

"  What's  your  name  and  general  style  of  beauty  ?  " 

"  Stover,  and  I've  got  a  twitching  foot." 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  so  ?  "  said  McNab,  who  then  ad 
mitted  him.  "  Pardon  me.  The  sophomores  are  getting 
so  fidgety,  you  know,  hopping  all  up  and  down.  My 
name's  McNab  —  German  extraction.  Came  up  on  the 
train,  ahead  of  you  —  thought  you  were  a  sophomore, 
you  put  on  such  a  beautiful  side.  Here,  put  on  that 
chain." 

^Hazing?" 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed.  Just  a  few  members  of  the  weak 
ling  class  above  us  might  get  too  fond  of  us;  just  must 

14 


STOVERATYALE  15 

see  us  —  welcome  to  Yale  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I 
hate  sentimental  exhibitions,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Is  McCarthy  here  ?  "  said  Stover,  laughing. 

"  Your  wife  is  waiting  for  you  most  anxiously." 

"Hello,  is  that  Dink?"  called  down  McCarthy's  ex 
uberant  voice  at  this  moment. 

Stover  went  up  the  stairs  like  a  terrier,  answering  the 
joyful  whoop  with  a  wrar-cry  of  his  own.  The  next  mo 
ment  he  and  McCarthy  were  pummeling  each  other, 
wrestling  about  the  room,  to  the  dire  danger  of  furniture 
and  crockery.  When  this  sentimental  moment  had  ex 
hausted  itself  physically,  McCarthy  bore  him  to  the  back 
of  the  house,  saying  : 

"  We  don't  want  to  show  our  light  in  front  just  yet. 
We've  got  a  corking  lot  in  the  house  —  best  of  the  An- 
dover  crowd.  Come  on;  I'll  introduce  you.  You  re 
member  Hunter,  who  played  against  me  at  tackle  ?  He's 
here." 

There  were  half  a  dozen  loitering  on  the  window-seat 
and  beds  in  the  pipe-ridden  room. 

Hunter,  in  shirt  sleeves,  sorting  the  contents  of  his 
trunk,  came  forward  at  once. 

"  Hello,  Stover,  how  are  you  ?  " 

"How  are  you?" 

No  sooner  did  their  hands  clasp  than  a  change  came  to 
Dink.  He  was  face  to  face  with  the  big  man  of  the  An- 
dover  crowd,  measuring  him  and  being  measured.  The 
sudden  burst  of  boyish  affection  that  had  sent  him  into 
McCarthy's  arms  was  gone.  This  man  could  not  help 
but  be  a  leader  in  the  class.  He  was  older  than  the  rest, 
but  how  much  it  would  have  been  hard  to  say.  v  He 
examined,  analyzed,  and  deliberated.  He  knew  what  lay 
before  him.  He  would  make  no  mistakes.  He  was  car- 


16  STOVER    AT    YALE 

ried  away  by  no  sentimental  enthusiasm.  Everything 
about  him  was  reserved  —  his  cordiality,  the  quiet  grip  of 
his  hand,  the  smile  of  welcome,  and  the  undecipherable 
estimate  in  his  eyes. 

"  Will  you  follow  me  or  shall  I  follow  you  ?  "  each 
seemed  to  say  in  the  first  contact,  which  was  a  challenge. 

"  How  are  you  ?  "  said  Stover,  shaking  hands  with  some 
one  else ;  and  the  tone  was  the  tone  of  Hunter. 

There  were  three  others  in  the  room :  Hunter's  room 
mate,  Stone,  a  smiling,  tall,  good-looking  fellow  who 
shook  his  hand  an  extra  period ;  Saunders,  silent,  retired 
behind  his  spectacles ;  and  Logan,  who  roomed  with  Mc- 
Nab,  who  sunk  his  shoulders  as  he  shook  hands  and 
looked  into  Stover's  eyes  intensely  as  he  said,  "Awful 
glad;  awful  glad  to  know  you." 

"Have  a  pipe  —  cigarette  —  anything?"  said  Hunter 
over  his  shoulder,  from  the  trunk  to  which  he  had  re 
turned. 

"  No,  thanks." 

"Started  training?" 

"  Sort  of." 

"  Take  a  chair  and  make  yourself  at  home,"  said 
Hunter  warmly,  but  without  turning. 

The  talk  was  immediately  of  what  each  was  going  to 
do.  Stone  was  out  for  the  glee  club,  already  planning 
to  take  singing  lessons  in  the  contest  for  the  leadership, 
three  years  off.  Saunders  was  to  start  for  the  News. 
Logan  had  made  drawings  during  the  summer  and  was 
out  for  the  Record.  Hunter  was  trying  for  his  class 
team  and  the  crew.  Only  McNab  was  defiant. 

"  None  of  that  for  me,"  he  said,  on  his  back,  legs  in 
the  air,  blowing  rings  against  the  ceiling.  "  I'm  for  a 
good  time,  the  best  in  life.  It  may  be  a  short  one,  but 
it'll  be  a  lulu!" 


STOVERATYALE  17 

"  You'll  be  out  heeling  the  Record,  Dopey,  inside  of  a 
month,"  said  Hunter  quietly. 

"  Never,  by  the  Great  Horned  Spoon  —  never !  " 

"  And  you'll  get  a  tutor,  Dopey,  and  stay  with  us." 

"  Never !  I  came  to  love  and  to  be  loved.  I'm  a 
lovely  thing;  that's  sufficient,"  said  McNab,  with  a 
grimace  to  his  elfish  face.  "  I  will  not  be  harnessed  up. 
I  will  not  heel." 

"  Yes,  you  will." 

Hunter's  tone  had  not  varied.  Stover,  studying  him, 
wondered  if  he  had  marked  out  the  route  of  Stone, 
Saunders,  and  Logan,  just  as  he  felt  that  McNab  would 
sooner  or  later  conform  to  the  will  of  the  man  who  had 
determined  to  succeed  himself  and  make  his  own  crowd 
succeed. 

Reynolds,  a  sophomore,  an  old  Andover  man,  dropped 
in.  Again  it  was  but  question  of  the  same  challenge, 
addressed  to  each : 

"  What  are  you  trying  for  ?  " 

The  arrival  of  the  sophomore,  who  installed  himself 
in  easy  majesty  in  the  arm-chair  and  addressed  his  ques 
tions  with  a  quick,  analytical  staccato,  produced  some 
what  the  effect  of  a  suddenly  opened  window.  Even 
McNab  was  unwillingly  impressed,  and  Hunter,  closing 
the  trunk,  allowed  the  conversation  to  be  guided  by  Rey 
nolds'  initiative. 

He  was  a  fiery,  alert,  rather  undersized  fellow,  who 
had  been  the  first  in  his  class  to  make  the  News,  and  was 
supposed  to  be  in  line  for  that  all-important  chairman 
ship. 

Inside  of  five  minutes  he  had  gone  through  the  pos 
sibilities  of  each  man,  advising  briefly  in  a  quick,  busi 
nesslike  manner.  To  Stover  he  seemed  symbolic  of  the 
rarefied  contending  nervousness  of  the  place,  a  person- 


18  STOVER    AT    YALE 

ality  that  suddenly  threw  open  to  him  all  the  nervous 
panorama  of  the  struggle  for  position  which  had  already 
begun. 

On  top  of  which  there  arrived  Rogers,  a  junior, 
good-natured,  popular,  important.  At  once,  to  Stover's 
amused  surprise,  the  role/was  reversed.  Reynolds,  from 
the  enthroned  autocrat,  became  the  respectful  audience, 
answered  a  few  questions,  and  found  a  quick  opportunity 
to  leave. 

"  Let's  go  in  front  and  have  a  little  fun,"  said 
Rogers. 

Somewhat  perplexed,  Stover  led  the  way  to  their  room. 

"  Light  up,"  said  Rogers,  with  a  chuckle.  "  There's  a 
sophomore  bunch  outside  just  ready  to  tumble." 

Rogers'  presence  brought  back  a  certain  ease;  they 
were  no  longer  on  inspection,  and  even  in  his  manner 
was  a  more  open  cordiality  than  he  had  showed  toward 
Reynolds.  That  under  all  this  was  some  graduated  sys 
tem  of  authority  Stover  was  slowly  perceiving,  when  all 
at  once  from  the  street  there  rose  a  shout : 

"  Turn  down  that  light !  " 

"  Freshmen,  turn  down  that  light !  " 

"  Turn  it  down  slowly,"  said  Rogers,  with  a  gesture 
to  McNab. 

"  Faster!" 

"  All  the  way  down !  " 

"  Turn  it  up  suddenly,"  said  Rogers. 

An  angry  swelling  protest  arose : 

"  Turn  that  down !  " 

"  You  freshmen !  " 

"  Turn  it  down !  " 

"  The  freshest  of  the  fresh  !  " 

"  Here,  let  me  work  'em  up,"  said  Rogers,  going  to  the 
gas-jet. 


STOVERATYALE  19 

Under  his  tantalizing  manipulation  the  noise  outside 
grew  to  the  proportions  of  a  riot. 

"  Come  on  and  get  the  bloody  freshmen !  " 

"  Ride  'em  on  a  rail !  " 

"  Say,  are  we  going  to  stand  for  this  ?  " 

"  Down  with  that  light !  " 

"  Let's  run  'em  out !  " 

"Break  in  the  door!" 

"  Out  with  the  freshman!  " 

Below  came  a  sudden  rush  of  feet.  Rogers,  abandon 
ing  the  gas-jet,  draped  himself  nonchalantly  on  the  couch 
that  faced  the  door. 

"  Well,  here  comes  the  shindy,"  thought  Stover,  with 
a  joyful  tensity  in  every  muscle. 

The  hubbub  stormed  up  the  hall,  shot  open  the  door, 
and  choked  the  passage  with  the  suddenly  revealed  fury 
of  angry  faces. 

"Hello,"  said  Rogers'  quiet  voice.  "Well,  what  do 
you  want?" 

No  sooner  had  the  barbaric  front  ranks  beheld  the 
languid,  slightly  annoyed  junior  than  the  fury  of  battle 
vanished  like  a  flurry  of  wind  across  the  water.  From 
behind  the  more  concealed  began  to  murmur : 

"Oh,  beans!" 

"A  lemon!" 

"Rubber!" 

"  Sold !  " 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  said  Rogers  sharply,  sending  a 
terrific  frown  at  the  sheepish  leaders. 

At  this  curt  reminder  there  was  a  shifting  movement 
in  the  rear,  which  rapidly  communicated  itself  to  the 
stammering,  apologetic  front  ranks;  the  door  was  closed 
in  ludicrous  haste,  and  down  the  stairs  resounded  the 
stampede  of  the  baffled  host. 


20  STOVERATYALE 

"  My,  they  are  a  fierce  lot,  these  man-eating  soph 
omores,  aren't  they  ? "  said  Rogers,  giving  way  to  his 
laughter.  And  then,  a  little  apologetically,  but  with  a 
certain  twinkle  of  humor,  he  added :  "  Don't  worry, 
boys ;  there  was  no  one  in  that  crowd  who'll  do  you  any 
harm.  However,  I  might  just  as  well  chaperon  you  to 
your  eating-joint." 

"  Le  Baron  is  going  to  take  me  out  with  him,"  said 
Stover,  as  they  rose  to  go. 

"  Hugh  Le  Baron  ?  "  said  Rogers,  with  a  new  interest. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  didn't  get  your  name." 

"  Stover." 

"  Oh !     Captain  down  at  Lawrenceville,  weren't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  wish  you  good  luck,"  said  Rogers,  with  a 
more  appraising  eye.  "  You've  got  an  opening  this 
year.  Drop  in  and  see  me  sometime,  will  you  ?\  I  mean 
it." 

"  See  you  later,  Stover,"  said  Hunter,  resting  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder  with  a  little  friendly  touch. 

"  Bully  you're  with  us,"  said  Stone. 

"  Come  in  and  chin  a  little  later,"  said  Logan. 

Saunders  gave  him  a  duck  of  the  head,  with  uncon 
cealed  admiration  in  his  embarrassed  manner. 

McCarthy  went  with  them.  Stover,  left  alone,  meas 
ured  the  length  of  the  room,  smiling  to  himself.  It  was 
all  quite  amusing,  especially  when  his  was  the  fixed  point 
of  view. 

In  a  few  moments  Le  Baron  arrived.  Together  they 
went  across  the  campus,  now  swarming  like  ant  runs. 
At  every  step  Le  Baron  was  halted  by  a  greeting. 
Recognition  was  in  the  air,  turbulent,  boyish,  exagger 
ated,  rising  to  the  pitch  of  a  scream  or  accomplished  in 


STOVERATYALE  21 

a  bear  dance;  and  through  it  all  was  the  same  vibrant, 
minor  note  of  the  ceaseless  activity. 

It  was  the  air  Stover  loved.  He  waited  respectfully, 
while  Le  Baron  shook  a  score  of  hands,  impatient  for  the 
moment  to  begin  and  the  opportunity  to  have  his  name 
told  from  lip  to  lip. 

"  I'm  going  to  be  captain  at  Yale,"  he  said  to  himself, 
with  a  sudden  fantastic,  grandiloquent  fury.  "  I  will  if 
it's  in  me." 

"We'll  run  down  to  Heub's,"  said  Le  Baron,  free  at 
last,  "  get  a  good  last  meal  before  going  into  training. 
You  look  in  pretty  fit  shape." 

"  I've  kept  so  all  summer." 

"  Who's  over  in  your  house  ?  " 

Stover  named  them. 

"  They  weren't  my  crowd  at  Andover,  but  they're  good 
fellows,"  said  Le  Baron,  listening  critically.  "  Hunter 
especially.  Here  we  are." 

A  minute  later  they  had  found  a  table  in  the  restaurant 
crowded  with  upper  classmen,  and  Le  Baron  was  glan 
cing  down  the  menu. 

"  An  oyster  cocktail,  a  planked  steak  —  rare ;  order  the 
rest  later."  He  turned  to  Stover.  "  Guess  we'd  better 
cut  out  the  drinks.  We'll  stand  the  gaff  better  to-mor 
row." 

There  was  in  his  voice  a  quiet  possession,  as  if  he  had 
already  assumed  the  reins  of  Stover's  career. 

"  Are  you  out  for  the  eleven  again  ?  "  said  Stover  re 
spectfully. 

"  Yes.  I'll  never  do  any  better  than  a  sub,  but  that's 
what  counts.  We're  up  against  an  awfully  stiff  proposi 
tion  this  year.  The  team's  got  to  be  built  out  of  nothing. 
There's  Dana,  the  captain,  now,  over  at  the  table  in  the 
corner." 


£8  STOVER    AT    YALE 

"  Where?  "  said  Stover,  fired  at  the  thought. 

Le  Baron  pointed  out  the  table,  detailing  to  him  the 
names  of  some  of  the  coaches  who  were  grouped  there. 

When  Stover  had  dared  to  gaze  for  the  first  time  on 
the  face  of  the  majestic  leader,  he  experienced  a  certain 
shock.  The  group  of  past  heroes  about  him  were  laugh 
ing,  exchanging  reminiscences  of  past  combats ;  but  the 
face  of  Dana  was  set  in  seriousness,  too  sensitive  to  the 
responsibility  that  lay  heavier  than  the  honor  on  his 
young  shoulders.  Stover  had  not  thought  of  his  leader 
so. 

"  I  guess  it's  going  to  be  a  bad  season,"  he  said. 

"  Yes ;  we  may  have  to  take  our  medicine  this  year." 

Several  friends  of  Le  Baron's  stopped  to  shake  hands, 
greeting  Stover  always  with  that  appraising  glance  which 
had  amused  him  in  Reynolds  who  had  first  sat  in  inquisi 
tion. 

He  began  to  be  conscious  of  an  ever-widening  gulf 
separating  him  and  Le  Baron,  imposed  by  all  the  subtle, 
still  uncomprehended  incidents  of  the  night,  which  grad 
ually  made  him  see  that  he  had  found,  not  a  friend,  but 
a  protector.  A  certain  natural  impulsiveness  left  him; 
he  answered  in  short  sentences,  resenting  a  little  this 
sudden,  not  yet  defined  sense  of  subjection. 

But  the  hum  of  diners  was  about  him,  the  unknown 
intoxication  of  lights,  the  prevailing  note  of  joy,  the  free 
concourse  of  men,  the  vibrant  note  of  good  fellowship, 
good  cheer,  and  the  eager  seizing  of  the  zest  of  the  hour. 
The  men  he  saw  were  the  men  who  had  succeeded  —  a 
success  which  unmistakably  surrounded  them.  He,  too, 
wished  for  success  acutely,  almost  with  a  throbbing, 
gluttonous  feeling,  sitting  there  unknown. 

All  at  once  Dana,  passing  across  the  room,  stopped  for 
a  handshake  and  a  word  of  greeting  to  Le  Baron. 


STOVERATYALE  23 

/ 

Stover  was  introduced,  rising  precipitately,  to  the  immi 
nent  danger  of  his  plate. 

"  Stover  from  Lawrenceville  ?  "  said  Dana. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

The  captain's  eye  measured  him  carefully,  taking  in  the 
wiry,  spare  frame,  the  heavy  shoulders,  and  the  nervous 
hands,  and  then  stayed  on  the  clean-cut  jaw,  the  direct 
blue  glance,  and  the  rebellious  rise  of  sandy  hair. 

"  End,  of  course,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"About  a  hundred  and  fifty-four?" 

"  One  hundred  and  fifty,  sir,  stripped." 

"Ever  played  in  the  back  field?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Report  with  the  varsity  squad  to-morrow." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  There's  a  type  of  man  we're  proud  of,"  said  Le 
Baron.  "  Came  here  from  Exeter,  waited  at  Commons 
first  two  years;  every  one  likes  him.  He  has  a  tough 
proposition  here  this  year,  though  —  supposing  we  dig 
out." 

In  the  room  the  laughter  was  rising,  and  all  the  little 
nervous  noises  of  the  clash  of  plate  and  cutlery.  Stover 
would  have  liked  to  stay,  to  yield  to  the  contagion,  to 
watch  with  eager  eyes  the  opposite  types,  all  under  the 
careless  spell  of  the  beginning  year. 

The  city  was  black  about  them  as  they  stepped  forth, 
the  giant  elms  flattened  overhead  against  the  blurred 
mists  of  the  night,  like  curious  water  weeds  seen  from 
below. 

They  went  in  silence  directly  toward  the  campus. 
Once  or  twice  Le  Baron  started  to  speak  and  then 
stopped.  At  length  he  said : 

"  Come  this  way." 


24  STOVERATYALE 

They  passed  by  Osborne  Hall,  and  the  Brick  Row  with 
the  choked  display  of  the  Coop  below,  and,  crossing  to  the 
dark  mass  of  the  Old  Library,  sat  down  on  the  steps. 

Before  Stover  stretched  all  the  lighted  panorama  of 
the  college  and  the  multiplied  strewn  lights  against  the 
mysteries  of  stone  and  brick  —  lights  that  drew  him  to 
the  quiet  places  of  a  hundred  growing  existencies  —  af 
fected  him  like  the  lights  of  the  crowded  restaurant  and. 
the  misty  reflections  of  the  glassy  streets.  It  was  the 
night,  the  mysterious  night  that  suddenly  had  come  into 
his  boyish  knowledge. 

It  was  immense,  unfathomable  —  this  spectacle  of  a 
massed  multitude.  It  was  all  confounded,  stirring, 
ceaseless,  feverish  in  its  brilliant  gaiety,  fleeting,  transi 
tory,  mocking.  It  was  of  the  stage,  theatric.  It  brought 
theatric  emotions,  too  keenly  sensitized,  too  sharply 
overwhelming.  He  wished  to  flee  from  it  in  despair  of 
ever  conquering,  as  he  wished  to  conquer,  this  world  of 
stirring  ambitions  and  shadowy  and  fleeting  years. 

"  I'm  going  to  do  for  you,"  said  Le  Baron's  voice, 
breaking  the  charm  —  "  I'm  going  to  do  what  some  one 
did  for  me  when  I  came  here  last  year." 

He  paused  a  moment,  a  little,  too,  under  the  spell  of  the 
night,  perhaps,  seeking  how  best  to  choose  his  words. 

"  It  is  a  queer  place  you're  coming  into,  and  many  men 
fail  for  not  understanding  it  in  time.  I'm  going  to  tell 
you  a  few  things." 

Again  he  stopped.  Stover,  waiting,  heard  across  from 
the  blazing  sides  of  Farnam  a  piano's  thin,  rushing 
notes.  Nearer,  from  some  window  unseen,  a  mandolin 
was  quavering.  Voices,  calling,  mingled  in  softened 
confusion. 

"  Oh,  Charley  Bangs  —  stick  out  your  head." 

"  We  want  Billy  Brown." 


STOVER   AT    YALE 

"Hello,  there!" 

"Tubby,  this  way!" 

Then  this  community  of  faint  sounds  was  lost  as,  from 
the  fence,  a  shapeless  mass  beyond  began  to  send  its 
song  towards  him. 

"  When  freshmen  first  we  came  to  Yale 
Fol-de-rol-de-rol-rol-rol. 
Examinations  made  us  pale 
Fol-de-rol-de-rol-rol-rol" 

"  What  do  you  know  about  the  society  system  here  ?  " 
said  Le  Baron  abruptly. 

"  Why,  I  know  —  there  are  three  senior  societies : 
Skull  and  Bones,  Keys,  Wolf's-Head  —  but  I  guess  that's 
all  I  do  know." 

"  You'll  hear  a  good  deal  of  talk  inside  the  college, 
and  out  of  it,  too,  about  the  system.  It  has  its  faults. 
But  it's  the  best  system  there  is,  and  it  makes  Yale  what 
it  is  to-day.  It  makes  fellows  get  out  and  work ;  it  gives 
them  ambitions,  stops  loafing  and  going  to  seed,  and 
keeps  a  pretty  good,  clean,  temperate  atmosphere  about 
the  place." 

"  I  know  nothing  at  all  about  it,"  said  Stover,  per 
plexed. 

"  The  seniors  have  fifteen  in  each ;  they  give  out  their 
elections  end  of  junior  year,  end  of  May.  That's  what 
we're  all  working  for." 

"  Already  ?  "  said  Stover  involuntarily. 

"  There  are  fellows  in  your  class,"  said  Le  Baron, 
"  who've  been  working  all  summer,  so  as  to  get  ahead  in 
the  competition  for  the  Lit  or  the  Record,  or  to  make 
the  leader  of  the  glee  club  —  fellows,  of  course,  who 
know." 


26  STOVER    AT    YALE 

"  But  that's  three  years  off." 

"  Yes,  it's  three  years  off,"  said  Le  Baron  quietly. 
"  Then  there  are  the  junior  fraternities ;  but  they're 
large,  and  at  present  don't  count  much,  except  you  have 
to  make  them.  Then  there  are  what  are  called  sopho 
more  societies."  He  hesitated  a  moment.  "  They  are 
very  important." 

"  Do  you  belong  ?  "  asked  Stover  innocently. 

"  Yes,"  said  Le  Baron,  after  another  hesitation.  "  Of 
course,  we  don't  discuss  our  societies  here.  Others  will 
tell  you  about  them.  But  here's  where  your  first  test  will 
come  in." 

Then  came  another  lull.  Stover,  troubled,  frowning, 
sat  staring  at  the  brilliant  windows  across  which  passed, 
from  time  to  time,  a  sudden  shadow.  The  groups  at  the 
fence  were  singing  a  football  song,  with  a  marching 
swing  to  it,  that  had  so  often  caught  up  his  loyal  soul 
as  he  had  sat  shivering  in  the  grand-stand  for  the  game 
to  begin.  It  was  not  all  so  simple  —  no,  not  at  all  simple. 
It  wasn't  as  he  had  thought.  It  was  complex,  a  little 
disturbing. 

"  This  college  is  made  up  of  all  sorts  of  elements,"  said 
Le  Baron,  at  last.  "  And  it  is  not  easy  to  run  it.  Now, 
in  every  class  there  are  just  a  small  number  of  fellows 
who  are  able  to  do  it  and  who  will  do  it.  They  form 
the  real  crowd.  All  the  rest  don't  count.  Now,  Stover, 
you're  going  to  have  a  chance  at  something  big  on  the 
football  side;  but  that  is  not  all.  You  might  make  cap 
tain  of  the  eleven  and  miss  out  on  a  senior  election. 
You're  going  to  be  judged  by  you.  friends,  and  it  is  just 
as  easy  to  know  the  right  crowd  as  the  wrong." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  right  crowd?  "  said  Stover, 
conscious  of  just  a  little  antagonism. 

"  The  right  crowd  ?  "  said  Le  Baron,  a  little  perplexed 


STOVERATYALE  27 

to  define  so  simple  a  thing.  "  Why,  the  crowd  that  is  do 
ing  things,  working  for  Yale;  the  crowd — " 

"  That  the  class  ahead  picks  out  to  lead  us/'  said  Stover 
abruptly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Le  Baron  frankly ;  "  and  it  won't  be  a 
bad  judgment.  Money  alone  won't  land  a  man  in  it, 
and  there'll  be  some  in  it  who  work  their  way  through 
college.  On  the  whole,  it's  about  the  crowd  you'll  want 
to  know  all  through  life." 

"  I  see,"  said  Stover.  His  clasp  tightened  over  his 
knees,  and  he  was  conscious  of  a  certain  growing  un 
comfortable  sensation.  He  liked  Le  Baron  —  he  had 
looked  up  to  him,  in  a  way.  Of  course,  it  was  all  said 
in  kindness,  and  yet  — 

"  I'm  frankly  aristocratic  in  my  point  of  view  " —  he 
heard  the  well-modulated  voice  continue  — "  and  what  I 
say  others  think.  I'm  older  than  most  of  my  class,  and 
I've  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world  at  home  and  abroad. 
You  may  think  the  world  begins  outside  of  college.  It 
doesn't;  it  begins  right  here.  You  want  to  make  the 
friends  that  will  help  you  along,  here  and  outside.  Don't 
lose  sight  of  your  opportunities,  and  be  careful  how  you 
choose. 

"  Now,  by  that  I  mean  don't  make  your  friends  too 
quickly.  Get  to  know  the  different  crowds,  but  don't 
fasten  to  individuals  until  you  see  how  things  work  out. 
This  rather  surprises  you,  doesn't  it?  Perhaps  you  don't 
like  it." 

"  It  does  sort  of  surprise  me,"  said  Stover,  who  did 
not  answer  what  he  meant. 

"  Stover,"  said  Le  Laron,  resting  a  hand  on  his  knee, 
"I  like  you.  I  liked  you  from  the  first  time  we  lined  up 
in  that  Andover-Lawrenceville  game.  You've  got  the 
stuff  in  you  to  make  the  sort  of  leader  we  need  at  Yale. 


28  STOVER   AT   YALE 

That's  why  I'm  trying  to  make  you  see  this  thing  as  it  is. 
You  come  from  a  school  that  doesn't  send  many  fellows 
here.  You  haven't  the  fellows  ahead  pulling  for  you,  the 
way  the  other  crowds  have.  I  don't  want  you  to  make 
any  mistake.  '  Remember,  you're  going  to  be  watched 
from  now  on." 

"  Watched  ?  "  said  Stover,  frowning. 

"  Yes ;  everything  you  do,  everything  you  say  —  that's 
how  you'll  be  judged.  That's  why  I'm  telling  you  these 
things." 

"  I  appreciate  it,"  said  Stover,  but  without  enthusiasm. 

"  Now,  you've  got  a  chance  to  make  good  on  the 
eleven  this  year.  If  you  do,  you  stand  in  line  for  the 
captaincy  senior  year.  It  lies  with  you  to  be  one  of 
the  big  men  in  the  class.  And  this  is  the  way  to  do  it : 
get  to  know  every  one  in  the  class  right  off." 

"  What !  "  said  Stover,  genuinely  surprised. 

"  I  mean,  bow  to  every  one ;  call  them  by  name :  but 
hold  yourself  apart,"  said  Le  Baron.  "  Make  fellows 
come  to  you.  Don't  talk  too  much.  Hold  yourself  in. 
Keep  out  of  the  crowd  that  is  out  booze-fighting  —  or, 
when  you're  with  them,  keep  your  head.  There  are  a 
lot  of  fellows  here,  with  friends  ahead  of  them,  who  can 
cut  loose  a  certain  amount;  but  it's  dangerous.  If  you 
want  to  make  what  you  ought  to  make  of  yourself, 
Stover,  you've  got  to  prove  yourself ;  you've  got  to  keep 
yourself  well  in  hand." 

Stover  suddenly  comprehended  that  Le  Baron  was  ex 
posing  his  own  theory,  that  he,  prospective  captain  of 
the  crew,  was  imposing  on  himself. 

"  Don't  ticket  yourself  for  drinking." 

"I  won't." 

"  Or  get  known  for  gambling  —  oh,  I'm  not  preaching 
a  moral  lesson ;  only,  what  you  do,  do  quietly." 


STOVERATYALE  29 

"  I  understand." 

"  And  another  thing :  no  fooling  around  women ;  that 
isn't  done  here  —  that'll  queer  you  absolutely." 

"  Of  course." 

"  Now,  you've  got  to  do  a  certain  amount  of  studying 
here.  Better  do  it  the  first  year  and  get  in  with  the 
faculty." 

"  I  will." 

"  There  it  is,"  said  Le  Baron,  suddenly  extending  his 
hand  toward  the  lighted  college.  "  Isn't  it  worth  work 
ing  for  —  to  win  out  in  the  end  ?  And,  Stover,  it's  easy 
enough  when  you  know  how.  Play  the  game  as  others 
are  playing  it.  It's  a  big  game,  and  it'll  follow  you  all 
through  life.  There  it  is ;  it's  up  to  you.  Keep  your  head 
clear  and  see  straight." 

The  gesture  of  Le  Baron,  "half  seen  in  the  darkness, 
brought  a  strange  trouble  to  Stover.  It  was  as  if,  at  the 
height  of  the  eager  confidence  of  his  youth,  some  one 
had  whispered  in  his  ear  and  a  shadowy  hand  had  held 
before  his  eyes  a  gigantic  temptation. 

"Are  there  any  questions  you  want  to  ask  me?"  said 
Le  Baron,  with  a  new  feeling  of  affection  toward  the  un 
protected  freshman  whom  he  had  so  generously  advised. 

"  No." 

They  sat  silently.  And  all  at  once,  as  Stover  gazed, 
from  the  high,  misty  walls  and  the  elm-tops  confounded 
in  the  night,  a  monstrous  hand  seemed  to  stretch  down, 
impending  over  him,  and  the  care-free  windows  sud 
denly  to  be  transformed  into  myriad  eyes,  set  on  him  in 
inquisition  —  eyes  that  henceforth  indefatigably,  re 
morselessly  would  follow  him. 

And  with  it  something  snapped,  something  fragile  — 
the  unconscious,  simple  democracy  of  boyhood.  And,  as 
it  went,  it  went  forever.  This  was  the  world  rushing  in, 


30  STOVERATYALE 

dividing  the  hosts.  This  was  the  parting  of  the  ways. 
The  standards  of  judgment  were  the  world's.  It  was 
not  what  he  had  thought.  It  was  no  longer  the  simple 
struggle.  It  was  complex,  disturbing,  incomprehensible. 
To  win  he  would  have  to  change. 

"  It's  been  good  of  you  to  tell  me  all  this,"  he  said, 
giving  his  hand  to  Le  Baron,  and  the  words  sounded  hol 
low. 

"  Think  over  what  I've  said  to  you." 

"  I  will." 

"  A  man  is  known  by  his  friends ;  remember  that, 
Stover,  if  you  don't  anything  else ! " 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  you." 

"  I  like  you,  Dink,"  said  Le  Baron,  shaking  hands 
warmly ;  "  now  you  know  the  game,  go  in  and  win." 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  you,"  said  Stover  aimlessly. 
He  stood  watching  Le  Baron's  strong,  aristocratic  figure 
go  swinging  across  the  dim  campus  in  a  straight,  undevia- 
ting,  well-calculated  path. 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  him,"  he  said  mechanically, 
"  awfully  good.  What  a  wonder  he  is !  " 

And  yet,  and  yet,  he  could  not  define  the  new  feeling 
—  he  was  but  barely  conscious  of  it;  was  it  rebellion 
or  was  it  a  lurking  disappointment? 

He  stood  alone,  looking  at  the  new  world.  It  was  no 
longer  the  world  of  the  honest  day.  It  was  brilliant, 
fascinating,  alluring,  awakening  strange,  poignant  emo 
tions  —  but  it  was  another  world,  and  the  way  to  it  had 
just  been  shown  him. 

He  turned  abruptly  and  went  toward  his  room, 
troubled,  wondering  why  he  was  so  troubled,  vainly  seek 
ing  the  reason,  knowing  not  that  it  lay  in  the  destruction 
of  a  fragile  thing  —  his  first  illusion. 


CHAPTER  III 

'TpOUGH  McCARTHY  was  in  the  communal  rooms, 
-*-     busily  delving  into  the  recesses  of  a  circus  trunk, 
from  which,  from  time  to  time,  he  emerged  with  the  loot 
of  the  combined  McCarthy  family. 

"  Dink,  my  boy,  cast  your  eye  over  my  burglaries. 
Look  at  them.  Aren't  they  lovely,  aren't  they  fluffy 
and  sweet?  I  don't  know  what  half  of  'em  are,  but 
won't  they  decorate  the  room  ?  And  every  one,  'pon  my 
honor,  the  gift  of  a  peach  who  loves  me!  The  whole 
family  was  watching,  but  I  got  'em  out  right  under  their 
noses.  Well,  why  not  cheer  me !  " 

He  deposited  on  the  floor  a  fragrant  pile  of  assorted 
embroideries,  table-covers,  lace  pincushions,  and  filmy 
mysteries  purloined  from  feminine  dressing-tables,  which 
he  rapidly  proceeded  to  distribute  about  the  room  accord 
ing  to  his  advanced  theories  on  decoration,  which  con 
sisted  in  crowding  the  corners,  draping  the  gas-jets,  and 
clothing  the  picture-frames. 

Stover  sat  silently,  out  of  the  mood. 

"  Here's  three  new  scalps,"  continued  McCarthy, 
producing  some  cushions.  "  Had  to  vow  eternal  love, 
and  keep  the  dear  girls  separated  —  a  blonde  and  two 
brunettes  —  but  I  got  the  pillows,  my  boy,  I  got  'em. 
And  now  sit  back  and  hold  on." 

He  made  a  third  trip  to  the  trunk,  unaware  of  Stover's 
distracted  mood,  and  came  back  chuckling,  his  arms 
heaped  with  photographs  to  his  chin. 

31 


32  STOVER    AT    YALE 

"  One  thousand  and  one  Caucasian  beauties,  the  pride 
of  every  State,  the  only  girls  who  ever  loved  me.  Look 
at  'em!" 

He  distributed  a  score  of  photographs,  mustering  them 
on  the  mantelpiece,  pinning  them  to  the  already  sus 
pended  flags,  massing  them  in  circles,  ranging  them  in 
crosses  and  ascending  files,  and  announced: 

"  Finest  I  could  gather  in.  Only  know  a  third  of  'em, 
but  the  sisters  know  the  rest.  Isn't  it  a  beauty  parlor? 
Why,  it'll  make  that  blond  warbler  Stone,  downstairs, 
feel  like  an  amateur  canary."  Suddenly  aware  of 
Stover's  opposite  mood,  he  stopped.  "  What  the  deuce 
is  the  matter?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  You  look  solemn  as  an  owl." 

"  I  didn't  know  it." 

"Well,  how  did  you  like  Le  Baron?" 

"  He's  a  corker !  "  said  Stover  militantly. 

"  I've  been  arranging  about  an  eating- joint." 

"You  have?" 

"  We're  in  with  a  whole  bunch  of  fellows.  Gimbel, 
an  Andover  chap,  is  running  it.  Five  dollars  a  week. 
We  can  see  if  we  can  stand  it." 

"Tough,  go  slow." 

"Why  so?" 

Stover  hesitated,  looking  at  McCarthy's  puzzled  ex 
pression,  and,  looking,  there  seemed  to  be  ten  years' 
experience  dividing  them. 

"  Oh,  I  only  mean  we  want  to  pick  our  friends  care 
fully,"  he  said  at  length. 

"  What  difference  does  it  make  where  we  eat  ?  " 

"Well,  it  does." 

"  Oh,  of  course  we  want  to  enjoy  ourselves." 

Stover  saw  he  did  not  understand  and  somehow,  feel- 


STOVER    AT    YALE  33 

ing  all  the  exuberant  enthusiasm  that  actuated  him,  he 
hesitated  to  continue  the  explanation. 

"  By  George,  Dink,"  continued  McCarthy  comically 
solicitous  of  his  scheme  of  decoration,  "  is  there  anything 
like  the  air  of  this  place?  You  can't  resist  it,  can  you? 
Every  one's  out  working  for  something.  By  George,  I 
hope  I  can  make  good !  " 

"  You  will,"  said  Stover.  And  in  his  mind  was  already 
something  of  the  paternal  protection  that  he  had  sur 
prised  in  Hunter,  the  big  man  of  the  Andover  crowd. 

"  If  I'm  to  do  anything  at  football  I've  got  to  put  on  a 
deuce  of  a  lot  of  weight,"  said  McCarthy  a  little  discon 
solately.  "  Guess  my  best  chance  is  at  baseball." 

"  The  main  thing,  Tough,  is  to  get  out  and  try  for 
everything,"  said  Stover  wisely.  "  Show  you're  a  worker 
and  it's  going  to  count." 

"  That's  good  advice  —  who  put  it  into  your  head  ?  " 

"  Le  Baron  talked  over  a  good  many  things  with  me," 
said  Stover  slowly.  "  He  gave  me  a  great  many 
pointers.  That's  why  I  said  go  slow  —  we  want  to  get 
with  the  right  crowd." 

"  The  right  crowd  ?  "  said  McCarthy,  wheeling  about 
and  staring  at  his  room-mate.  "  What  the  :>:uce  are  you 
talking  about,  Dink  ?  Do  you  mean  to  say  any  one  cares 
who  in  the  blankety-blank  we  eat  with  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"What!  Who  the  deuce's  business  is  it  to  meddle 
in  my  affairs?  Right  crowd  and  wrong  crowd  — 
there's  only  one  crowd,  and  each  man's  as  good  as  the 
other.  That's  the  way  I  look  at  it."  He  stopped, 
amazed,  looking  over  at  Stover.  "  Why,  Dink,  I  never 
expected  you  to  stand  for  the  right  and  wrong  crowd 
idea." 

"  I  don't  mean  it  the  way  you  do,"  said  Stover  lamely 


34.  STOVERATYALE 

—  for  he  was  trying  to  argue  with  himself.     "  We're 
trying  to  do  something  here,  aren't  we  —  not  just  loaf 
through?    Well,  we  want  to  be  with  the  crowd  that's 
doing  things." 

"  Oh,  if  you  mean  it  that  way,"  said  McCarthy 
dubiously,  "  that's  different.  I've  been  filled  up  for  the 
last  hour  with  nothing  but  society  piffle  by  a  measly- faced 
runt  just  out  of  the  nursery  called  Schley.  Skull  and 
Bones  —  Locks  and  Keys  —  Wolf's-Head  —  gold  bugs, 
hobgoblins,  toe  the  line,  heel  the  right  crowd,  mind  your 
p's  and  q's,  don't  call  your  soul  your  own,  don't  look  at  a 
society  house,  don't  for  heaven's  sake  look  at  a  pin  in  a 
necktie,  never  say  '  bones '  or  '  f  ee-fie-f o-f  um '  out  loud 

—  never  —  oh,  rats,  what  bosh !  " 

"  Schley  is  an  odious  little  toad,"  said  Stover  evasively. 
A  little  vain  of  his  new  knowledge  and  the  destiny  be 
fore  him,  he  looked  at  the  budding  McCarthy  with  some 
what  the  anxiety  of  a  mother  hen,  and  said  with  great 
solemnity :  "  Don't  go  off  half  cock,  old  fellow." 

"What!     Have  you  fallen  for  the  bugaboo?" 

"  My  dear  Tough,"  said  Stover,  with  a  little  gorgeous- 
ness,  "  don't  commit  yourself  until  you  know  the  whole 
business.  You  like  the  feeling  here,  don't  you  —  the 
way  every  one  is  out  working  for  something?  " 

"  You  bet  I  do." 

"  Well,  it's  the  society  system  that  does  it." 

"  Come  off." 

"  Wait  and  see." 

"  But  what  in  the  name  of  my  aunt's  cat's  pants,"  said 
McCarthy,  unwilling  to  relinquish  the  red  rag,  "  what  in 
the  name  of  common  sense  is  the  holy  sacred  secret,  that 
it  can't  be  looked  at,  talked  about,  or  touched  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  a  galoot,  Tough,"  said  Stover,  in  a  superior 
way ;  "  don't  be  a  frantic  ass.  All  that's  exaggerated ; 


STOVERATYALE  35 

only  little  jack-asses  like  Schley  are  frightened  by  it. 
The  real  side,  the  serious  side,  is  that  the  system  is  built 
up  for  the  fellows  who  are  going  to  do  something  for 
Yale.  Now,  just  wait  until  you  get  your  eyes  open  be 
fore  you  go  shooting  up  the  place." 

But,  as  he  stood  in  his  own  bedroom,  with  no  Tough 
McCarthy  to  instruct  and  patronize,  alone  at  his  win 
dow,  looking  out  at  the  sputtering  arc  lights  with  their 
splotchy  regions  of  light  and  the  busy  windows  of  Pier- 
son  Hall  across  the  way,  listening  to  the  chapel  sending 
forth  its  quarter  hour  over  the  half-divined  campus  —  he 
was  not  quite  so  confident  of  all  he  had  proclaimed. 

"  It's  different  —  different  from  school,"  he  said  to 
himself  half  apologetically.  "  It  can't  be  the  same  as 
school.  It's  got  to  be  organized  differently.  It's  the 
same  everywhere." 

He  went  to  bed,  to  sleep  badly,  restless  and  uncon 
vinced,  a  stranger  in  strange  places,  staring  at  the  flicker 
ing  glare  of  the  arc  light  against  the  window-panes,  that 
light  as  unreal  in  comparison  with  the  frank  sunlight  as 
the  sudden  bewildering  introduction  to  the  new,  com 
plex  life  was  different  from  the  direct  and  rugged  sim 
plicity  of  the  unconscious  democracy  of  school  that  had 
gone. 

He  awoke  with  a  start,  to  find  McCarthy  and  Dopey 
McNab,  in  striped  pajamas,  solicitously  occupied  in  ap 
plying  a  lather  to  his  bare  feet.  He  sprang  up  with  all 
the  old  zest,  and,  a  free  scrimmage  taking  place,  wreaked 
satisfactory  vengeance  on  the  intruders. 

"  Hang  you,  Stover,"  said  McNab  weakly,  "  if  you'd 
snored  another  minute  I'd  have  won  my  dollar  from  Mc 
Carthy.  If  you  want  to  be  friends,  nothing  like  being 
friendly,  is  there?  Come  on  down  to  my  rooms,  we've 
got  eggs  and  coffee  right  on  tap.  It's  a  bore  going  down 


36  STOVER    AT    YALE 

to  the  joint.  To-morrow  we'll  all  be  slaves  of  the  alarm 
clock  again.  Hang  compulsory  chapel." 

They  breakfasted  hilariously  under  McNab's  irresist 
ible  good  humor.  When  at  last  Stover  sauntered  out 
to  reconnoiter  in  company  with  McCarthy,  a  great  change 
had  come.  The  emotions  of  the  night,  the  restless  re 
belliousness,  had  lost  all  their  acuteness  and  seemed  only  a 
blurred  memory.  The  college  of  the  day  was  a  different 
thing. 

The  late  arrivals  were  swarming  in  carriages,  or  on 
top  of  heaped  express-wagons,  just  as  the  school  used 
to  surge  hilariously  back.  The  windows  were  open, 
crowded  with  eager  heads;  the  street  corners  clustered 
with  swiftly  assembling  groups,  sophomores  almost  en 
tirely,  past  whom  isolated,  self-conscious  freshmen  went 
with  averted  gaze,  to  the  occasional  accompaniment  of 
a  whistled  freshman  march.  Despite  himself,  Stover  be 
gan  to  feel  a  little  tightening  in  the  shoulders,  a  little 
uncertainty  in  the  swing  of  his  walk,  and  something  in 
his  back  seemed  uneasily  conscious  of  the  concentrated 
attack  of  superior  eyes. 

They  entered  the  campus,  now  the  campus  of  the  busy 
day.  Across  by  the  chapel,  the  fence  was  hidden  under 
continually  arriving  groups  of  upper  classmen,  streaming 
to  it  in  threes  and  fours  in  muscular  enthusiasm.  There 
was  no  division  there.  Gradually  the  troubled  percep 
tions  of  the  night  before  faded  from  Stover's  conscious 
ness.  The  light  he  saw  was  the  clear  noon  of  the  day, 
and  the  air  that  filled  his  lungs  the  atmosphere  of  life 
and  ambition. 

At  every  step,  runners  for  eating-houses,  steam 
laundries,  and  tailors  thrust  cards  in  their  hands,  coaxing 
for  orders.  Every  tree  seemed  plastered  with  notices  of 
the  awakening  year,  summons  to  trials  for  the  musical 


STOVER    AT    YALE  37 

organizations  and  the  glee  club,  offers  to  tutor,  announce 
ments  of  coming  competitions,  calls  for  candidates  to  a 
dozen  activities. 

"Hello,  Dink,  old  boy!" 

They  looked  up  to  behold  Charley  De  Soto,  junior  over 
in  the  Sheffield  Scientific  School,  bearing  down  upon 
them. 

"  Hello,  Tough,  glad  to  see  you  up  here !  " 

De  Soto  had  been  at  Lawrenceville  with  them,  a  com 
rade  of  the  eleven,  now  prospective  quarter-back  for  the 
coming  season. 

"  You've  put  on  weight,  Dink,"  he  said  with  critical  ap 
proval.  "  You've  got  a  bully  chance  this  year.  Are  you 
reporting  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Captain  Dana  asked  me  to  come  out  for  the  varsity." 

"  I  talked  to  him  about  you." 

He  asked  a  dozen  questions,  invited  them  over  to  see 
him,  and  was  off. 

They  elbowed  their  way  into  the  Coop  to  make  their 
purchases.  The  first  issue  of  the  News  was  already  on 
sale,  with  its  notices  and  its  appeals. 

They  went  out  and  past  Vanderbilt  toward  their  eat 
ing-joint.  Off  the  campus,  directly  at  the  end  of  their 
path,  a  shape  more  like  a  monstrous  shadow  than  a  build 
ing  rose  up,  solid,  ivy-covered,  blind,  with  great,  prison- 
like  doors,  heavily  padlocked. 

"  Fee-fi-fo-fum,"  said  McCarthy. 

"  Which  is  it  ?  "  said  Stover,  in  a  different  tone. 

"  Skull  and  Bones,  of  course,"  said  McCarthy  de 
fiantly.  "  Look  at  it  under  your  eyelids,  quick ;  don't 
let  any  one  see  you." 

Stover,  without  hearing  him,  gazed  ahead,  impressed 
despite  himself.  There  it  was,  the  symbol  and  the  em 
bodiment  of  all  the  subtle  forces  that  had  been  disclosed 


38  STOVERATYALE 

to  him,  the  force  that  had  stood  amid  the  passing  classes, 
imposing  its  authority  unquestioned,  waiting  at  the  end 
of  the  long  journey  to  give  or  withhold  the  final  coveted 
success. 

"Will  I  make  it  — will  I  ever  make  it?"  he  said  to 
himself,  drawing  a  long  breath.  "  To  be  one  of  fifteen 
—  only  fifteen!" 

"  It  is  a  scary  sort  of  looking  old  place,"  said  Mc 
Carthy.  "  They  certainly  have  dressed  it  up  for  the 
part." 

Still  Stover  did  not  reply.  The  dark,  weighty,  mas 
sive  silhouette  had  somehow  entered  his  imagination, 
never  to  be  shaken  off,  to  range  itself  wherever  he  went  in 
the  shadowy  background  of  his  dreams. 

"  It  stands  for  democracy,  Tough,"  he  said,  as  they 
turned  toward  Chapel  Street,  and  there  was  in  his  voice 
a  certain  emotion  he  couldn't  control.  "  And  I  guess 
the  mistakes  it  makes  are  pretty  honest  ones." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  McCarthy  stubbornly.  "  But  why  all 
this  mumbo-jumbo  business?" 

"It  doesn't  affect  you,  does  it?" 

"  The  trouble  is,  it  does,"  said  McCarthy,  with  a  laugh. 
"  Do  you  know  what  I  ought  to  do  ?  " 

"What?" 

"  Go  right  up  and  sit  on  the  steps  of  the  bloomin'  old 
thing  and  eat  a  bag  of  cream-puffs." 

Stover  exploded  with  laughter. 

"  What  the  deuce  would  be  the  sense  in  that,  you  old 
anarchist  ?  " 

"  To  prove  to  my  own  satisfaction  that  I'm  a  man." 

"  Do  you  mean  it?"  said  Stover,  half  laughing. 

McCarthy  scratched  his  head  with  one  of  the  old 
boyish,  comical  gestures  Stover  knew  so  well. 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  mean  more  than  I  think/'  he  said, 


STOVER   AT    YALE  39 

grinning.  "  In  another  month  I  may  get  it  as  bad  as  that 
little  uselessness  Schley.  By  the  way,  he  wants  us  over 
at  his  eating-joint." 

"He  does?" 

"  He's  a  horsefly  sort  of  a  cuss.  You'll  see,  he'll 
fasten  on  to  you  just  as  soon  as  he  thinks  it  worth  while. 
Here  we  are." 

They  pressed  their  way,  saluted  with  the  imperious 
rattle  of  knives  and  plates,  through  three  or  four  rooms, 
blue-gray  with  smoke,  and  found  a  vacant  table  in  a  far 
corner.  A  certain  reserve  was  still  prevalent  in  the  noisy 
throng,  which  had  not  yet  been  welded  together.  Im 
mediately  a  thin,  wiry  fellow,  neatly  dressed,  hair 
plastered,  affable  and  brimming  over  with  energy,  rose 
and  pumped  McCarthy's  hand,  slapping  him  effusively  on 
the  back. 

"  Bully !  Glad  to  see  you.  This  is  Stover,  of  course. 
I'm  Gimbel  —  Ray  Gimbel;  you  don't  know  me,  but  I 
know  you.  Seen  entirely  too  much  of  you  on  the  wrong 
side  of  the  field  in  the  Andover-Lawrenceville  game." 

"  How  are  you,  Gimbel  ? "  said  Stover,  not  disliking 
the  flattery,  though  perceiving  it. 

"  We  were  greatly  worried  about  you,"  said  Gimbel 
directly,  and  with  a  sudden  important  seriousness. 
"  There  was  a  rumor  around  you  had  switched  to  Prince 
ton." 

"  Oh,  no." 

"  Well,  we're  certainly  glad  you  didn't."  Looking  him 
straight  in  the  face,  he  said  with  conviction :  "  You'll  be 
captain  here." 

"  I'm  not  worrying  about  that  just  at  present,"  said 
Stover,  amused. 

"All  right;  that's  my  prophecy.  I'll  be  back  in  a 
second." 


40  STOVERATYALE 

He  departed  hastily,  to  welcome  new  arrivals  with 
convulsive  grip  and  rolling  urbanity,  passing  like  a  doc 
tor  on  his  hospital  rounds. 

"  Who's  Gimbel  ? "  said  Stover,  wondering,  as  he 
watched  him,  what  new  force  he  represented. 

"  Hurdler  up  at  Andover,  I  believe." 

In  a  moment  Gimbel  was  back,  engaging  them  in  eager 
conclave. 

"  See  here,  there's  a  combination  being  gotten  up," 
he  said  impersonally,  "  a  sort  of  slate  for  our  class  foot 
ball  managers,  and  I  want  to  get  you  fellows  interested. 
Hotchkiss  and  St.  Paul  are  going  in  together,  and  we 
want  to  organize  the  other  schools.  How  many  fellows 
are  up  from  Lawrenceville  ?  " 

"  About  fifteen." 

"  We've  got  a  corking  good  man  from  Andover  not  in 
any  of  the  crowds  up  there,  and  a  lot  of  us  want  to  give 
him  a  good  start.  I'll  have  you  meet  him  to-night  at 
supper.  If  you  fellows  weren't  out  for  football,  we'd 
put  one  of  you  up  for  secretary  and  treasurer.  You  can 
name  him  if  you  want.  I've  got  a  hundred  votes  already, 
and  we're  putting  through  a  deal  with  a  Sheff  crowd  for 
vice-president  that  will  give  us  thirty  or  forty  more.  Our 
man's  Hicks  —  Frank  Hicks  —  the  best  in  the  world. 
Say  a  good  word  for  him,  will  you,  wherever  you  can. 
See  you  to-night." 

He  was  off  to  another  table,  where  he  was  soon  in 
animated  conversation. 

"  Don't  mix  up  in  it,"  said  Stover  quietly. 

"Why  not?"  said  McCarthy.  "A  good  old  political 
shindig's  lots  of  fun." 

"Wait  until  we  understand  the  game,"  said  Stover, 
remembering  Le  Baron's  advice  not  to  commit  himself 
to  any  crowd. 


STOVER   AH   KALE  41 

"  But  it  would  be  such  a  lark/' 

Dink  did  not  reply.  Instead  he  was  carefully  studying 
the  many  types  that  crowded  before  his  eyes.  They 
ranged  from  the  New  Yorker,  extra  spick-and-span  for 
his  arrival,  lost  and  ill  at  ease,  speaking  to  no  one;  to 
older  men  in  jerseys  and  sweaters,  unshaven  often,  lolling 
back  in  their  chairs,  concerned  with  no  one,  talking  with 
all. 

The  waiters  were  of  his  own  class,  who  presently 
brought  their  plates  to  the  tables  they  served  and  sat  down 
without  embarrassment.  It  was  a  heterogeneous  assem 
bly,  with  a  preponderance  of  quiet,  serious  types,  men  to 
whom  the  financial  problem  was  serious  and  college  an 
opportunity  to  fit  themselves  for  the  grinding  combat  of 
life.  Others  were  raw,  decidedly  without  experience, 
opinionated,  carrying  on  their  shoulders  a  chip  of  some 
what  bumptious  pride.  The  talk  was  all  of  the  doings 
of  the  night  before,  when  several  had  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  mischief-bent  sophomores. 

"  They  caught  Flanders  down  York  Street  and  made 
him  roll  a  peanut  up  to  Billy's." 

"  Yes,  and  the  darned  fool  hadn't  sense  enough  to  grin 
and  bear  it." 

"  So  they  gave  him  a  beer  shampoo." 

"A  what?" 

"  A  beer  shampoo." 

"  Did  you  hear  about  Regan  ?  " 

"Who's  Regan?" 

"  He's  a  thundering  big  coal-heaver  from  out  the 
woolly  West." 

"  Oh,  the  fellow  that  started  to  scrap." 

"  That's  the  man." 

"  Give  us  the  story,  Buck." 

"  They  had  me  up,  doing  some  of  my  foolish  stunts," 


42  STOVER    AT    YALE 

said  a  fellow  with  a  great  moon  of  a  face,  little  twinkling 
eyes,  and  a  grotesque  nose  that  sprang  forth  like  a  jagged 
promontory,  "  when,  all  at  once,  this  elephant  of  a  Regan 
saunters  in  coolly  to  see  what's  doing." 

"  Didn't  know  any  better,  eh?  " 

"  Didn't  know  a  thing.  Well,  no  sooner  did  the  sophs 
spot  him  than  they  set  up  a  yell: 

"'Who  are  you?' 

" '  Tom  Regan/ 

"'What's  your  class?' 

" '  Freshman/ 

"  '  What  in  the  blankety-blank  are  you  doing  here  ?  ' 

" '  Lookin'  on/ 

"  With  that,  of  course,  they  began  just  leaping  up  and 
down  for  joy,  hugging  one  another ;  and  a  couple  of  them 
started  in  to  tackle  the  old  locomotive.  The  fellow, 
who's  as  strong  as  an  ox,  just  gives  a  cough  and  a  sneeze, 
scatters  a  few  little  sophs  on  the  floor,  and  in  a  twinkling 
is  in  the  corner,  barricaded  behind  a  table,  looking  as  big 
as  a  house. 

'  Tom,   look  out ;   they're   going   to    shampoo   you,' 
says  I. 

" '  Is  it  all  right  ? '  he  says,  with  a  grin. 

"  '  It's  etiquette,'  says  I. 

" '  Come  on,  then,'  says  he  very  affably,  and  he  strips 
off  his  coat  and  tosses  it  across  the  room,  saying,  '  It's 
my  only  one ;  look  out  for  it/ 

"  Well,  when  the  sophs  saw  him  standing  there,  licking 
his  chops,  arms  as  big  as  hams,  they  sort  of  stopped  and 
scratched  their  heads." 

"  I  bet  they  did ! "  cried  a  couple. 

"  They  didn't  particularly  like  the  prospect ;  but  they 
were  game,  especially  a  little  bantam  of  a  rooster  called 
Waring,  who'd  been  putting  us  through  our  stunts. 


STOVERATYALE  43 

" '  I'm  going  in  after  that  bug  myself,'  said  he,  with  a 
yelp.  '  Come  on ! ' ' 

"Well,  what  happened,  Buck?" 

"  Did  they  give  it  to  him?  " 

"  About  fifteen  minutes  after  the  bouncers  had  swept 
us  into  the  street  with  the  rest  of  the  debris,  as  the  French 
say,"  said  the  speaker,  with  a  far-off,  reflective  look, 
"  one  dozen  of  the  happiest-looking  sophs  you  ever  saw 
went  reeling  back  to  the  campus.  They  were  torn  and 
scratched,  pummeled,  bruised  and  bleeding,  soaked  from 
head  to  foot,  shot  to  pieces,  smeared  with  paint,  not  a 
button  left  or  a  necktie  —  but  they  were  happy !  " 

"Why  happy?" 

"  They  had  given  Regan  the  shampoo." 

Stover  and  McCarthy  rose  and  made  their  way  out 
past  the  group  where  Buck  Waters,  enthroned  already  as 
a  natural  leader,  was  tuning  up  the  crowd. 

"  I  came  up  in  the  train  with  Regan,"  said  Stover, 
thrilling  a  little  at  the  recital.  "  Cracky !  I  wish  I'd 
seen  the  scrap." 

"  We'll  call  him  out  to-night  for  the  wrestling,"  said 
McCarthy. 

"  He's  a  queer,  plunging  sort  of  animal,"  said  Stover 
reflectively.  "  I  wonder  if  he'll  ever  do  anything  up 
here?" 

Saunders,  riding  past  on  a  bicycle,  pad  protruding  from 
his  pocket,  slowed  up  with  a  cordial  hail : 

"  Howdy !  I'm  heeling  the  News.  If  you  get  any 
stories,  pass  them  on  to  me.  Thought  you  fellows  were 
down  at  our  joint.  Where  the  deuce  are  you  fellows 
grubbing  ?  " 

"  We  dropped  into  a  place  one  of  your  Andover  crowd's 
runnin'." 

"Who's  that?" 


44  STOVER   AT   YALE 

"  Fellow  called  Gimbel." 

Saunders  rode  on  a  bit,  wheeled,  came  slowly  back, 
resting  his  hand  on  Stover's  shoulder. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  frowning  a  little.  "  Gimbel's  a 
good  sort,  clever  and  all  that ;  but  look  here  —  you're  not 
decided,  are  you  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Because  we've  been  counting  you  fellows  in  with  us. 
We've  got  a  corking  crowd,  about  twenty,  and  a  nice, 
quiet  place."  He  hesitated,  choosing  his  words  care 
fully  :  "  I  think  you'll  find  the  crowd  congenial." 

"  When  do  you  start  in  ?  "  said  Stover. 

"  To-morrow.    Are  you  with  us  ?  " 

"  Glad  to  come." 

"  Bully ! "  He  made  a  movement  to  start,  and  then 
added  suddenly :  "  I  say,  fellows,  of  course  you're  not 
on  to  a  good  many  games  here,  but  don't  get  roped  into 
any  politics.  It'll  queer  you  quicker  than  anything  else. 
You  don't  mind  my  giving  you  a  tip  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Stover,  smiling  a  little  as  he  won 
dered  what  distinction  Saunders  made  to  himself  between 
politics  and  politics. 

"  Ta-ta,  then  —  perfectly  bully  you're  with  us.  I'm 
off  on  this  infernal  News  game  —  half  a  year's  grind 
from  twelve  to  ten  at  night  —  lovely,  eh,  when  the  snow 
and  slush  come?" 

He  sped  on,  and  they  went  up  to  the  rooms. 

"  I  thought  we'd  better  change,"  said  Stover. 

"  This  place  is  loaded  up  with  wires  —  live  wires,"  said 
McCarthy,  scratching  his  head.  "  Well,  go  ahead,  if  you 
want  to." 

"  Well,  you  see  —  we're  all  in  the  same  house ;  it's 
more  sociable." 

"  Oh,  of  course." 


STOVER    AT    YALE  45 

"  And  then,  it'll  be  quieter." 

"  Yes,  it'll  be  quieter." 

A  little  constraint  came  to  them.  They  went  to  their 
rooms  silently,  each  aware  that  something  had  come  into 
their  comradeship  which  sooner  or  later  would  have  to 
be  met  with  frankness. 


CHAPTER  IV 

STOVER  had  never  been  on  the  Yale  field  except 
through  the  multitudinous  paths  of  his  imagination. 
Huddled  in  the  car  crowded  with  candidates,  he  waited 
the  first  glimpse  as  Columbus  questioned  the  sky  or  De 
Soto  sought  the  sea.  Three  cars,  filled  with  veterans 
and  upper  classmen,  were  ahead  of  him.  He  was  among 
a  score  of  sophomores,  members  of  third  and  fourth 
squads,  and  a  few  of  his  own  class  with  prep  school  repu 
tations  who  sat  silently,  nervously  overhauling  their  suits, 
adjusting  buckles  and  shoe-laces,  swollen  to  grotesque 
proportions  under  knotted  sweaters  and  padded  jerseys. 

The  trolley  swung  over  a  short  bridge,  and,  climbing 
a  hill,  came  to  a  slow  stop.  In  an  instant  he  was  out, 
sweeping  on  at  a  dog-trot  in  the  midst  of  the  undulating, 
brawny  pack.  In  front  —  a  thing  of  air  and  wood  — 
rose  the  climbing  network  of  empty  stands.  Then,  as 
they  swept  underneath,  the  field  lay  waiting,  and  at  the 
end  two  thin,  straight  lines  and  a  cross-bar.  No  longer 
were  the  stands  empty  or  the  breeze  devoid  of  song  and 
cheers.  The  goal  was  his  —  the  goal  of  Yale  —  and,  un 
derfoot  at  last,  the  field  more  real  to  him  than  Waterloo 
or  Gettysburg! 

He  camped  down,  one  among  a  hundred,  oblivious  of 
his  companions,  hands  locked  over  his  knees,  his  glance 
strained  down  the  field  to  where,  against  the  blue  sweater 
of  a  veteran,  a  magic  Y  was  shining  white.  For  a  mo 
ment  he  felt  a  plunging  despair  —  he  was  but  one  among 
so  many.  The  whole  country  seemed  congregated  there 

46 


STOVERATYALE  47 

in  competition.  Others  seemed  to  overtop  him,  to  be 
built  of  bone  and  muscle  beyond  his  strength.  He  felt  a 
desire  to  shrink  back  and  steal  away  unperceived,  as  he 
had  that  awful  moment  when,  on  his  first  test  at  school, 
he  had  been  told  that  he  must  stand  up  and  fill  the  place 
of  a  better  man. 

Then  he  was  on  his  feet,  in  obedience  to  a  shouted  com 
mand,  journeying  up  the  field  to  where  beyond  the  stands 
a  tackling  dummy  on  loose  pulleys  swung  like  a  great 
scarecrow. 

"  Here,  now,  get  some  action  into  this,"  said  a  fiery 
little  coach,  Tompkins,  quarter-back  a  dozen  seasons  be 
fore.  "  Line  up.  Get  some  snap  to  it.  First  man. 
Hard  — hit  it  hard!" 

The  first  three  —  heavy  linesmen,  still  soft  and  short 
of  breath  —  made  lumbering,  slipping  attempts. 

Tompkins  was  in  a  blaze  of  fury. 

"  Hold  up !  What  do  you  think  this  is  ?  I  didn't  ask 
you  to  hug  your  grandmother;  I  told  you  to  tackle  that 
dummy!  Hit  it  hard  —  break  it  in  two!  If  you  can't 
tackle,  we  don't  want  you  around.  Tackle  to  throw  your 
man  back!  Tackle  as  if  the  whole  game  depended  on 
it.  Come  on,  now.  Next  man.  Jump  at  it!  Rotten! 
Rotten!  Oh,  squeeze  it.  Don't  try  to  butt  it  over  — 
you're  not  a  goat !  Half  the  game's  the  tackling !  Next 
man.  Oh,  girls  —  girls !  What  is  this  bunch,  anyhow  — 
a  young  ladies'  seminary  ?  Here !  Stop  —  stop !  You're 
up  at  Yale  now.  I'll  show  you  how  we  tackle !  " 

Heedless  of  his  street  clothes,  of  the  grotesqueness  of 
the  thing,  of  all  else  but  the  savage  spark  he  was  trying 
to  communicate,  he  went  rushing  into  the  dummy  with  a 
headlong  plunge  that  shook  the  ropes. 

He  was  up  in  a  moment,  forgetting  the  dust  that  clung 
to  him,  shouting  in  his  shrill  voice: 


48  STOVERATYALE 

"  Come  on,  now,  bang  into  it !  Yes,  but  hold  on  to  it ! 
Squeeze  it.  Better  —  more  snap  there!  Get  out  the 
way!  Come  on!  Rotten!  Take  that  again  —  on  the 
jump ! " 

Stover  suddenly  felt  the  inflaming  seriousness  of  Yale, 
the  spirit  that  animated  the  field.  Everything  was  in 
deadly  earnest;  the  thing  of  rags  swinging  grotesquely 
was  as  important  as  the  tackle  that  on  a  championship 
field  stood  between  defeat  and  victory. 

His  turn  came.  He  shot  forward,  left  the  turf  in  a 
clean  dive,  caught  the  dummy  at  the  knees,  and  shook  the 
ground  with  the  savageness  of  his  tackle. 

"  Out  of  the  way,  quick  —  next  man !  "  cried  the  driv 
ing  voice. 

There  was  not  a  word  of  praise  for  what  he  knew  had 
been  a  perfect  tackle.  A  second  and  a  third  time  he  flung 
himself  heedlessly  at  the  swinging  figure,  in  a  desperate 
attempt  to  win  the  withheld  word  of  approbation. 

"  He  might  at  least  have  grunted,"  he  said  to  himself, 
tumbling  to  his  feet,  "  the  little  tyrant." 

In  a  moment  Tompkins,  without  relaxing  a  jot  of  his 
nervous  driving,  had  them  spread  over  the  field,  flinging 
themselves  on  a  dozen  elusive  footballs,  while  always  his 
voice,  unsatisfied,  propelling,  drove  them : 

"  Faster,  faster !  Get  into  it  —  let  go  yourselves. 
Throw  yourself  at  it.  Oh,  hard,  harder !  " 

Ten  minutes  of  practise  starts  under  his  leash,  and  they 
ended,  enveloped  in  steam,  lungs  shaken  with  quick, 
convulsive  breaths. 

"  Enough  for  to-day.  Back  to  the  gymnasium  on  the 
trot;  run  off  some  of  that  fatty  degeneration.  Here, 
youngster,  a  word  with  you." 

Stover  stepped  forward. 

"What's  your  name?" 


STOVERATYALE  49 

"  Stover/* 

To  his  profound  disappointment,  Tompkins  did  not 
recognize  that  illustrious  name. 

"Where  from?" 

"  Lawrenceville.     Played  end.'* 

Tompkins  looked  him  over,  a  little  grimly.  "  Oh,  yes ; 
I've  heard  something  about  you.  Look  here,  ever  do  any 
punting?" 

"  Some,  but  only  because  I  had  to.     I'm  no  good  at  it." 

"  Let's  see  what  you  can  do." 

Stover  caught  the  ball  tossed  and  put  all  his  strength 
into  a  kick  that  went  high  but  short. 

"  Try  another." 

The  second  and  third  attempts  were  no  better. 

"  Well,  that's  pretty  punk,"  said  Tompkins.  "  Dana 
wants  to  give  you  a  try  on  the  second.  Run  over  now 
and  report.  Oh,  Stover !  " 

Dink  halted,  to  see  Tompkins'  caustic  scrutiny  fixed 
on  him. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Stover,  just  one  word  for  your  good.  You  come  up 
with  a  big  prep  school  reputation.  Don't  make  an  ass 
of  yourself.  Understand;  don't  get  a  swelled  head. 
That's  all." 

"  Precious  little  danger  of  that  here,"  said  Dink  a  little 
rebelliously  to  himself,  as  he  jogged  over  to  the  benches 
where  the  varsity  subs  were  camped.  Le  Baron  waved 
him  a  recognition,  but  no  more.  It  was  as  if  the  gesture 
meant  : 

"  I've  started  you.  Now  stand  on  your  own  feet. 
Don't  look  to  me  for  help." 

For  the  rest  of  the  practise  he  sat  huddled  in  his 
sweater,  waiting  expectantly  as  each  time  Captain  Dana 
passed  down  the  line,  calling  out  the  candidates  for  trials 


50  STOVERATYALE 

in  the  brief  scrimmages  that  took  place.  The  afternoon 
ended  without  an  opportunity  coming  to  him,  and  he 
jogged  home,  in  the  midst  of  the  puffing  crowd,  with  a 
sudden  feeling  of  his  own  unimportance. 

He  had  barely  time  to  get  his  shower,  and  run  into  the 
almost  deserted  eating  club  for  a  quick  supper,  when 
Gimbel  appeared,  crying: 

"  I  say,  Stover,  bolt  the  grub  and  hoof  it.  We  assem 
ble  over  by  Osborne." 

"  Where's  the  wrestling?" 

"  Don't  know.     Some  vacant  lot.     Ever  do  any  ?  " 

"  Don't  know  a  thing  about  it." 

"  We're  going  to  call  out  a  chap  called  Robinson  from 
St.  Paul's,  Garden  City,  for  the  lightweight,  and  Regan 
for  the  heavy,"  said  Gimbel,  who,  of  course,  had  been 
busy  during  the  afternoon.  "  Thought  of  you  for  the 
middleweight." 

"  Lord !  get  some  one  who  knows  the  game,"  said 
Stover,  following  him  out. 

"  Have  you  thought  of  any  one  you'd  like  to  run  for 
secretary  and  treasurer  ?  "  said  Gimbel,  locking  arms  in  a 
cordial  way. 

"No." 

"  I've  got  the  whole  thing  organized  sure  as  a  steel 
trap." 

"  You  haven't  lost  any  time,"  said  Stover,  smiling. 

"That's  right  — heaps  of  fun." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  run  for  ?  "  said  Stover,  look 
ing  at  him. 

"  I  ?  Nothing  now.  Fence  orator,  perhaps,  later," 
said  Gimbel  frankly.  "  It's  the  fun  of  the  game  interests 
me  —  the  organizing,  pulling  wires,  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
I'm  going  to  have  a  lot  of  fun  here." 

"  Look  here,  Gimbel,"  said  Stover,  yielding  to  a  sudden 


STOVER    AT    YALE 

appreciation  of  the  other's  openness.  "  Isn't  this  sort  of 
thing  going  to  get  a  lot  of  fellows  down  on  you  ?  " 

"  Queer  me  ?  "  said  Gimbel,  laughing. 

The  word  was  still  new  to  Stover,  who  showed  his  per 
plexity. 

"  That's  a  great  word,"  added  his  companion.  "  You'll 
hear  a  lot  of  it  before  you  get  through.  It's  a  sort  of 
college  bug  that  multiplies  rapidly.  Will  politics  '  queer  ' 
me  —  keep  me  out  of  societies?  Probably;  but  then,  I 
couldn't  make  'em  anyway.  So  I'm  going  to  have  my 
fun.  And  I'll  tell  you  now,  Stover,  I'm  going  to  get  a 
good  deal  more  out  of  my  college  career  than  a  lot  of  you 
fellows." 

"Why  include  me?" 

"  Well,  Stover,  you're  going  to  make  a  sophomore  so 
ciety,  and  go  sailing  along." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know." 

"  Yes,  you  do.  We  don't  object  to  such  men  as  you, 
who  have  the  right.  It's  the  lame  ducks  we  object  to." 

"  Lame  ducks  ? "  said  Stover,  puzzled  as  well  as  sur 
prised  at  this  spokesman  of  an  unsuspected  proletariat 
opposition. 

" '  Lame  ducks '  is  the  word :  the  fellows  who  would 
never  make  a  society  if  it  weren't  for  pulls,  for  the  men 
ahead  —  the  cripples  that  all  you  big  men  will  be  trying 
to  bolster  up  and  carry  along  with  you  into  a  senior 
society." 

"  I'm  not  on  to  a  good  deal  of  this,"  said  Stover,  puz 
zled. 

"  I  know  you're  not.  Look  here."  Gimbel,  releasing 
his  arm,  faced  him  suddenly.  "  You  think  I'm  a  politi 
cian  out  to  get  something  for  myself." 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Well,  I  am  —  I'm  frank  about  it.     There's  a  whole 


52  STOVER   AT    YALE 

mass  of  us  here  who  are  going  to  fight  the  sophomore 
society  system  tooth  and  nail,  and  I'm  with  them.  When 
you're  in  the  soph  crowd  you  mightn't  like  what  I'm  say 
ing,  and  then  again  you  may  come  around  to  our  way  of 
thinking.  However,  I  want  you  to  know  that  I'm  hiding 
nothing  —  that  I'm  fighting  in  the  open.  We  may  be  on 
opposite  sides,  but  I  guess  we  can  shake  hands.  How 
about  it?" 

"  I  guess  we  can  always  do  that,"  said  Stover,  giving 
his  hand.  The  man  puzzled  him.  Was  his  frankness 
deep  or  a  diplomatic  assumption? 

"  And  now  let's  have  no  pretenses,"  continued  Gimbel, 
on  the  same  line,  with  a  quick  analytical  glance.  "  You're 
going  with  your  crowd;  better  join  one  of  their  eating- 
joints." 

Stover  was  genuinely  surprised. 

"  Have  you  already  arranged  it  ?  "  said  Gimbel,  laugh 
ing. 

"  Gimbel,"  said  Stover  directly,  "  I'm  not  quite  sure 
about  you." 

"  You  don't  know  whether  I'm  a  faker  or  not." 

"  Exactly." 

"  Stover,  I'm  a  politician,"  said  Gimbel  frankly.  "  I'm 
out  for  a  big  fight.  I  know  the  game  here.  I  wouldn't 
talk  to  every  one  as  I  talk  to  you.  I  want  you  to  under 
stand  me  —  more,  I  want  you  to  like  me.  And  I  feel 
with  you  that  the  only  way  is  to  be  absolutely  honest. 
You  see,  I'm  a  politician,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  I've 
learned  how  to  meet  different  men.  Sometime  I'm  going 
to  talk  over  things  with  you  —  seriously.  Here  we  are 
now.  I've  got  a  bunch  of  fellows  to  see.  McCarthy's 
probably  looking  for  you.  Don't  make  up  your  mind  in 
a  hurry  about  me  —  or  about  a  good  many  things  here. 
Ta-ta!" 


STOVERATYALE  53 

Stover  watched  him  go  gaily  into  the  crowd,  distribu 
ting  bluff,  vociferous  welcomes,  hilariously  acclaimed. 
The  man  was  new,  represented  a  new  element,  a  strange, 
dimly  perceived,  rebellious  mass,  with  ideas  that  intruded 
themselves  ungratefully  on  his  waking  vision. 

"  Is  he  sincere?  "  he  said  to  himself  —  a  question  that 
he  was  to  apply  a  hundred  times  in  the  life  that  was  be 
ginning. 


CHAPTER  V 

HELLO,  there,  Stover !  " 
"  Stover,  over  here !  " 

"  Oh,  Dink  Stover,  this  way !  " 

Over  the  bared  heads  of  the  bobbing,  shifting  crowd 
he  saw  Hunter  and  McCarthy  waving  to  him.  He  made 
his  way  through  the  strange  assorted  mass  of  freshmen 
to  his  friends,  where  already,  instinctively,  a  certain 
picked  element  had  coalesced.  A  dozen  fellows,  clean- 
cut,  steady  of  head  and  eye,  carrying  a  certain  unmistak 
able,  quiet  assurance,  came  about  him,  gripping  him 
warmly,  welcoming  him  into  the  little  knot  with  cordial 
acknowledgment.  He  felt  the  tribute,  and  he  liked  it. 
They  were  of  his  own  kind,  his  friends  to  be,  now  and 
in  the  long  reaches  of  life. 

"Fall  in,  fall  in!" 

Ahead  of  them,  the  upper  classes  were  already  in  rank. 
Behind,  the  freshmen,  unorganized,  distrustful,  were  be 
ing  driven  into  lines  of  eight  and  ten  by  seniors,  pipe 
in  mouth,  authoritative,  quiet,  fearfully  enveloped  in  dig 
nity.  Cheers  began  to  sound  ahead,  the  familiar  brek-e- 
kek-kex  with  the  class  numeral  at  the  end.  A  cry  went 
up: 

"  Here,  we  must  have  a  cheer." 

"  Give  us  a  cheer." 

"  Start  her  up." 

"  Lead  a  cheer,  some  one." 

"  Lead  a  cheer,  Hunter." 

"  Lead  the  cheer,  Gimbel." 

54 


STOVERATYALE  55 

"  Lead  the  cheer,  Stover." 

"  Come  on,  Stover !  " 

A  dozen  voices  took  up  his  name.  He  caught  the  in 
fection.  Without  hesitating,  he  stepped  by  Hunter,  who 
was  hesitating,  and  cried: 

"  Now,  fellows,  all  together  —  the  first  cheer  for  the 
class !  Are  you  ready  ?  Let  her  rip !  " 

The  cheer,  gathering  momentum,  went  crashing  above 
the  noises  of  the  street.  The  college  burst  into  a  mighty 
shout  of  acclaim  —  another  class  was  born! 

Suddenly  ahead  the  dancing  lights  of  the  senior  torches 
began  to  undulate.  Through  the  mass  a  hoarse  roar 
went  rushing,  and  a  sudden  muscular  tension. 

"  Grab  hold  of  me." 

"  Catch  my  arm." 

"  Grip  tight." 

"  Get  in  line." 

"  Move  up." 

"  Get  the  swing." 

Stover  found  himself,  arms  locked  over  one  another's 
shoulders,  between  Schley,  who  had  somehow  kept  per 
sistently  near  him,  and  a  powerful,  smiling,  blond-haired 
fellow  who  shouted  to  him : 

"My  name's  Hunger  ford  —  Joe  Hunger  ford.  Glad 
to  know  you.  Down  from  Groton." 

It  was  a  name  known  across  the  world  for  power  in 
finance,  and  the  arm  about  Stover's  shoulder  was  taut 
with  the  same  sentimental  rush  of  emotion. 

Down  the  moving  line  suddenly  came  surging  the 
chant : 

"  Chi  Rho  Omega  Lambda  Chi! 
We  meet  to-night  to  celebrate 
The  Omega  Lambda  Chi!" 


56  STOVER   AT    YALE 

Grotesquely,  lumberingly,  tripping  and  confused,  they 
tried  to  imitate  the  forward  classes,  who  were  surging  in 
the  billowy  rhythm  of  the  elusive  serpentine  dance. 

"  How  the  deuce  do  they  do  it?  " 

"  Get  a  skip  to  it,  you  ice-wagons." 

"  All  to  the  left,  now." 

"  No,  to  the  right." 

Gradually  they  found  themselves;  hoarse,  laughing, 
struggling,  sweeping  inconsequentially  on  behind  the 
singing,  cheering  college. 

Before  Dink  knew  it,  the  line  had  broken  with  a  rush, 
and  he  was  carried,  struggling  and  pushing,  into  a  vacant 
lot,  where  all  at  once,  out  of  the  tumult  and  the  riot,  a 
circle  opened  and  spread  under  his  eyes. 

Seniors  in  varsity  sweaters,  with  brief  authoritative 
gestures,  forced  back  the  crowd,  stationed  the  fretful 
lights,  commanding  and  directing : 

"  First  row,  sit  down." 

"  Down  in  front,  there." 

"  Kneel  behind." 

"  Freshmen  over  here." 

"  Get  a  move  on !  " 

"  Stop  that  shoving." 

"How's  the  space,  Cap?" 

In  the  center,  Captain  Dana  waited  with  an  appraising 
eye. 

"  All  right.     Call  out  the  lightweights." 

Almost  immediately,  from  the  opposite  sophomores, 
came  a  unanimous  shout: 

"  Farquahar !    Dick  Farquahar !  " 

"Come  on,  Dick!" 

"Get  in  the  ring!" 

Out  into  the  ring  stepped  an  agile,  nervous  figure, 
acclaimed  by  all  his  class. 


STOVERATYALE  57 

"  A  cheer  for  Farquahar,  fellows !  " 

"  One,  two,  three !  " 

"Farquahar!" 

"  Candidate  from  the  freshman  class !  " 

"  Candidate !  " 

"  Robinson ! " 

"Teddy  Robinson!" 

"Harris!" 

"  No,  Robinson  —  Robinson !  " 

Gimbel's  voice  dominated  the  outcry.  There  was  a 
surging,  and  then  a  splitting  of  the  crowd,  and  Robinson 
was  slung  into  the  ring. 

In  the  midst  of  contending  cheers,  the  antagonists 
stripped  to  the  belt  and  stood  forth  to  shake  hands,  their 
bared  torsos  shining  in  high  lights  against  the  mingled 
shadows  of  the  audience. 

The  two,  equally  matched  in  skill,  went  tumbling  and 
whirling  over  the  matted  sod,  twisting  and  flopping,  until 
by  a  sudden  hold  Robinson  caught  his  adversary  in  a  half 
nelson  and  for  the  brief  part  of  a  second  had  the  two 
shoulders  touching  the  ground.  The  second  round  like 
wise  went  to  the  freshman,  who  was  triumphant  after  a 
struggle  of  twenty  minutes. 

"  Middleweights ! " 

"  Candidate  from  the  sophomore  class ! " 

"  Candidate  from  the  freshman ! " 

"Fisher!" 

"Denny  Fisher!" 

The  sophomore  stepped  forth,  tall,  angular,  well  knit. 
Among  the  freshmen  a  division  of  opinion  arose : 

"  Say,  Andover,  who've  you  got  ?  " 

"  Any  one  from  Hotchkiss  ?  " 

"  What's  the  matter  with  French?  " 

"  He  doesn't  know  a  thing  about  wrestling." 


58  STOVER    AT    YALE 

"How  about  Doc  White?" 

"  Not  heavy  enough." 

The  seniors  began  to  be  impatient. 

"  Hurry  up,  now,  freshmen,  hurry  up !  " 

"  Produce  something !  " 

Still  a  hopeless  indecision  prevailed. 

"  I  don't  know  any  one." 

"  Jack's  too  heavy." 

"  Say,  you  Hill  School  fellows,  haven't  you  got  some 
one?" 

"  Some  one's  got  to  go  out." 

The  sophomores,  seizing  the  advantage,  began  to  gibe 
at  them: 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  freshmen !  " 

"  We  won't  hurt  you." 

"  We'll  let  you  down  easy." 

"Take  it  by  default." 

"  Call  time  on  them." 

"  I  don't  know  a  thing  about  it,"  said  Stover,  between 
his  teeth,  to  Hungerford,  his  hands  twitching  impatiently, 
his  glance  fixed  hungrily  on  the  provokingly  amused  face 
of  the  sophomore  champion. 

"  I'm  too  heavy  or  I'd  go." 

"  I've  a  mind  to  go,  all  the  same." 

McCarthy,  who  knew  his  impulses  of  old,  seized  him 
by  the  arm. 

"  Don't  get  excited,  Dink,  old  boy ;  you  don't  know 
anything  about  wrestling." 

"  No,  but  I  can  scrap ! " 

The  outcry  became  an  uproar : 

"  Quitters ! " 

"'Fraid  cats!" 

"  Poor  little  freshmen !  " 

"  They're  in  a  funk." 


STOVERATYALE  59 

"By  George,  I  can't  stand  that,"  said  Stover,  setting 
his  teeth,  the  old  love  of  combat  sweeping  over  him. 
"  I'm  going  to  have  a  chance  at  that  duck  myself ! " 

He  thrust  his  Way  forward,  shaking  off  McCarthy's 
hold,  stepped  over  the  reclining  front  ranks,  and,  spring 
ing  into  the  ring,  faced  Dana. 

"  I'm  no  wrestler,  sir,  but  if  there's  no  one  else  I'll 
have  a  try  at  it." 

There  was  a  sudden  hush,  and  then  a  chorus : 

"Who  is  it?" 

"Who's  that  fellow?" 

"What's  his  name?" 

"  Oh,  freshmen,  who's  your  candidate  ?  " 

"Stover!" 

"  Stover,  a  football  man !  " 

"  Fellow  from  Lawrenceville !  " 

The  seniors  had  him  over  in  a  corner,  stripping  him, 
talking  excitedly. 

"  Say,  Stover,  what  do  you  know  about  it  ?  " 

"  Not  a  thing." 

"  Then  go  in  and  attack." 

"  All  right." 

"  Don't  wait  for  him." 

"  No." 

"  He's  a  clever  wrestler,  but  you  can  get  his  nerve." 

"His  nerve?" 

"  Keep  off  the  ground." 

"  Off  the  ground,  yes." 

"  Go  right  in ;  right  at  him ;  tackle  him  hard ;  shake 
him  up." 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  for  the  tenth  time.  He  had  heard 
nothing  that  had  been  said.  He  was  standing  erect,  look 
ing  in  a  dazed  way  at  the  hundreds  of  eyes  that  were 
dancing  about  him  in  the  living,  breathing  pit  in  which 


60  STOVER   AT   YALE 

he  stood.  He  heard  a  jumble  of  roars  and  cheers,  and 
one  clear  cry,  McCarthy  crying: 

"Good  old  Dink!" 

Some  one  was  rolling  up  his  trousers  to  the  knee; 
some  one  was  flinging  a  sweater  over  his  bared  back; 
some  one  was  whispering  in  his  ear : 

"  Get  right  to  him.     Go  for  him  —  don't  wait !  " 

"  Already,  there,"  said  Captain  Dana's  quiet,  matter- 
of-fact  voice. 

"  Already,  here." 

"Shake  hands!" 

The  night  air  swept  over  him  with  a  sudden  chill  as 
the  sweaters  were  pulled  away.  He  went  forth  while 
Dana  ran  over  the  rules  and  regulations,  which  he  did  not 
understand  at  all.  He  stood  then  about  five  feet  ten, 
in  perfect  condition,  every  muscle  clearly  outlined  against 
the  wiry,  spare  Yankee  frame,  shoulders  and  the  sinews 
of  his  arms  extraordinarily  developed.  From  the  mo 
ment  he  had  stepped  out,  his  eyes  had  never  left  Fisher's. 
Combat  transformed  his  features,  sending  all  the  color 
from  his  face,  narrowing  the  eyes,  and  drawing  tense  the 
lips.  Combat  was  with  him  always  an  overmastering 
rage  in  the  leash  of  a  cold,  nervous,  pulsating  logic,  which 
by  the  very  force  of  its  passion  gave  to  his  expression  an 
almost  dispassionate  cruelty  —  a  look  not  easy  to  meet, 
that  somehow,  on  the  instant,  impressed  itself  on  the 
crowd  with  the  terrific  seriousness  of  the  will  behind. 

"  Wiry  devil." 

"  Good  shoulders." 

"  Great  fighting  face,  eh  ?  " 

"  Scrapper,  all  right." 

"  I'll  bet  he  is." 

"  Shake  hands  !  " 

Stover  caught  the  other's  hand,  looked  into  his  eyes, 


STOVERATYALE  61 

read  something  there  that  told  him,  science  aside,  that  he 
was  the  other's  master;  and  suddenly,  rushing  forward, 
he  caught  him  about  the  knees  and,  lifting  him  bodily  in 
the  air,  hurled  him  through  the  circle  in  a  terrific  tackle. 

The  onslaught  was  so  sudden  that  Fisher,  unable  to 
guard  himself,  went  down  with  a  crash,  the  fall  broken 
by  the  bodies  of  the  spectators. 

A  roar,  half  laughter,  half  hysteria,  went  up. 

"  Go  for  him !  " 

"  Good  boy,  Stover !  " 

"  Chew  him  up !  " 

"  Is  he  a  scrapper !  " 

"Say,  this  is  a  fight!" 

"  Wow ! " 

Dana,  clapping  them  on  the  shoulders,  brought  them 
back  to  the  center  of  the  ring  and  restored  them  to  the 
position  in  which  they  had  fallen.  Fisher,  plainly  shaken 
up,  immediately  worked  himself  into  a  defensive  posi 
tion,  recovering  his  breath,  while  Stover  frantically 
sought  some  instinctive  hold  with  which  to  turn  him 
over. 

Suddenly  an  arm  shot  out,  caught  his  head  in  chancery, 
and  before  he  knew  it  he  was  underneath  and  the  weight 
of  Fisher's  body  was  above,  pressing  him  down.  He 
staggered  to  his  feet  in  a  fury,  maddened,  unreasoning, 
and  went  down  again,  always  with  the  dead  weight  above 
him. 

"Here,  that  won't  do/'  he  said  to  himself  savagely, 
recovering  his  clarity  of  vision;  "  I  mustn't  lose  strength." 

All  at  once,  before  he  knew  how  it  had  been  done, 
Fisher's  arm  was  under  his,  cutting  over  his  neck,  and 
slowly  but  irresistibly  his  shoulders  were  turning  toward 
the  fatal  touch.  Every  one  was  up,  shouting: 

"Turn  him  over!" 


62  STOVER   AT    YALE 

"  Finish  him  up !  " 

"Hold  out,  freshman!" 

"Hold  out!" 

"Flop  over!" 

"Don't  give  in!" 

"Stick  it  out!" 

With  a  sudden  expenditure  of  strength,  he  checked  the 
turning  movement,  desperately  striving  against  the  cruel 
hold. 

"Good  boy,  Stover!" 

"That's  the  stuff!" 

"  Show  your  grit !  " 

"Holdout!" 

"  Show  your  nerve !  " 

In  a  second  he  had  reasoned  it  out.  He  was  caught 
—  he  knew  it.  He  could  resist  three  minutes,  five  min 
utes,  slowly  sinking  against  his  ebbing  strength,  fran 
tically  cheered  for  a  spectacular  resistance  —  and  then 
what?  If  he  had  a  chance,  it  was  in  preserving  every 
ounce  of  his  strength  for  the  coming  rounds. 

"  All  right ;  you've  got  me  this  time,"  he  said  coldly, 
and,  relaxing,  let  his  shoulders  drop. 

Dana's  hand  fell  stingingly  on  him,  announcing  the 
fall.  He  rose  amid  an  angry  chorus: 

"What  the  deuce!" 

"  Say,  I  don't  stand  for  that!" 

"  Thought  he  was  game." 

"  Game  nothing !  " 

ffLost  his  nerve." 

"  Sure  he  did." 

"  Well,  I'll  be  damned." 

"  A  quitter  —  a  rank  quitter !  " 

He  walked  to  his  seconds,  angry  at  the  misunderstand 
ing. 


STOVERATYALE  63 

"  Here,  I  know  what  I'm  doing,"  he  said  in  short, 
quick  breaths,  forgetting  that  he,  a  freshman,  was  ad 
dressing  the  lords  of  creation.  He  was  a  captain  again, 
his  own  captain,  conducting  his  own  battle.  "  I'll  get 
him  yet.  Rub  up  this  shoulder,  quick." 

"  Keep  off  the  ground,"  said  one  mentor. 

"  You  bet  I  will." 

"  Why  the  deuce  did  you  give  in  so  easily  ?  " 

"  Because  there  are  two  more  rounds,  and  I'm  going 
to  use  my  head  —  hang  it !  " 

"  He's  right,  too,"  said  the  first  senior,  rubbing  him 
fiercely  with  the  towel.  "  Now,  sport,  don't  monkey  with 
him  until  you've  jarred  him  up  a  couple  of  times! " 

"  That's  what  I'm  going  to  do !  " 

"  Time !  "  cried  the  voice  of  Dana. 

This  time  he  retreated  slowly,  drawing  Fisher  unwarily 
toward  his  edge  of  the  ring,  and  then  suddenly,  as  the 
sophomore  lunged  at  him,  shot  forward  again,  in  a  tackle 
just  below  the  waist,  raised  him  clear  off  the  ground, 
spun  him  around,  and,  putting  all  his  force  into  his  back 
as  a  wood-chopper,  swings  an  ax,  brought  him  down 
crashing,  clear  across  the  ring.  It  was  a  fearful  tackle, 
executed  with  every  savage  ounce  of  rage  within  him,  the 
force  of  which  momentarily  stunned  him.  Fisher,  groggy 
under  the  bruising  impact,  barely  had  time  to  turn  on  his 
stomach  before  Stover  was  upon  him. 

Dink  immediately  sprang  up  and  back,  waiting  in  the 
center  of  the  ring.  The  sophomore,  too  dazed  to  reason 
clearly,  yielding  only  to  his  anger  at  the  sudden  reversal, 
foolishly  struggled  to  his  feet  and  came  staggering  to 
ward  him.  A  second  time  Stover  threw  all  his  dynamic 
strength  into  another  crashing  tackle.  This  time  Fisher 
went  over  on  his  back  with  a  thump,  and,  though  he 
turned  instinctively,  both  shoulders  had  landed  squarely 


64  STOVER   AT   YALE 

on  the  turf,  and,  despite  his  frantic  protests,  a  roar  went 
up  as  Dana  allotted  the  fall  to  Stover. 

This  time,  as  he  went  to  his  corner,  it  was  amid 
pandemonium : 

"  You're  a  corker,  freshman !  " 

"Oh,  you  bulldog!" 

"  Tear  him  up !  " 

"You're  the  stuff!" 

"  Good  head,  freshman !  " 

"  Good  brain-work !  " 

Several  upper  classmen  came  hurriedly  over  to  his  cor 
ner,  slapping  him  on  the  back,  volunteering  advice. 

"  Clear  out,"  said  his  mentor  proudly.  "  This  rooster 
can  take  care  of  himself." 

Fisher  came  up  for  the  third  round,  visibly  groggy  and 
shaken  by  the  force  of  the  tackles  he  had  received,  but 
game.  Twice  Stover,  watching  his  chance,  dove  under 
the  groping  hands  and  flung  him  savagely  to  the  ground. 
Once  Fisher  caught  him,  as  they  lay  on  the  ground,  in 
a  hold  that  might  have  been  decisive  earlier  in  the  match. 
As  it  was,  Stover  felt  with  a  swift  horror  the  arm  slip 
ping  under  his  arm,  half  gripping  his  neck.  The  wet  heat 
of  the  antagonistic  body  over  his  inflamed  all  the  brute 
in  him.  The  strength  was  now  his.  He  tore  himself 
free,  scrambled  to  his  feet,  and  hurled  Fisher  a  last  time 
clean  through  into  the  scattering  crowd,  where  he  lay 
stunned,  too  weak  to  resist  the  viselike  hands  that  forced 
his  shoulders  to  the  ground. 

Dana  hauled  Stover  to  his  feet,  a  little  groggy. 

"  Some  tackling,  freshman !  Bout's  yours !  Call  out 
the  heavyweights ! " 

Scarcely  realizing  that  it  was  his  captain  who  had 
spoken,  Dink  stood  staring  down  at  Fisher,  white  and 
conquered,  struggling  to  his  feet  in  the  grip  of  friends. 


STOVER    AT    YALE  65 

"  I  say,  Fisher,"  he  said  impulsively,  "  I  hope  I  didn't 
shake  you  up  too  much.  I  saw  red ;  I  didn't  know  what  I 
was  doing." 

"  You  did  me  all  right,"  said  the  sophomore,  giving 
his  hand.  "  That  tackle  of  yours  would  break  a  horse 
in  two.  Shake !  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Stover,  flustered  and  almost 
ashamed  before  the  other's  perfect  sportsmanship. 
"  Thank  you  very  much,  sir !  " 

He  went  to  his  corner,  smothered  under  frantic  slaps 
and  embraces,  hearing  his  name  resounding  again  and 
again  on  the  thunders  of  his  classmates.  The  bout  had 
been  spectacular;  every  one  was  asking  who  he  was. 

"  Stover,  eh,  of  Lawrenceville !  " 

"  Gee,  what  a  fierce  tackier !  " 

"  Ridiculous  for  Fisher  to  be  beaten !  " 

"Oh,  is  it?    How'd  you  like  to  get  a  fall  like  that?0 

"  Played  end." 

"  Captain  at  Lawrenceville." 

"  He  ought  to  be  a  wonder." 

"  Say,  did  you  see  the  face  he  got  on  him?  " 

"  Enough  to  scare  you  to  death." 

"  It  got  Fisher,  all  right." 

While  he  was  being  rubbed  down  and  having  his 
clothes  thrust  upon  him,  shivering  in  every  tense  muscle, 
which,  now  the  issue  was  decided,  seemed  to  have  broken 
from  his  control,  suddenly  a  hand  gripped  his,  and,  look 
ing  up,  he  saw  the  face  of  Tompkins,  ablaze  with  the  fire 
of  the  professional  spectator. 

"  I'm  not  shaking  hands  on  your  brutal  old  tackling," 
he  said,  with  a  look  that  belied  his  words.  "  It's  the 
other  thing  —  the  losing  the  first  fall.  Good  brain-work, 
boy ;  that's  what'll  count  in  football." 

The  grip  of  the  veteran  cut  into  his  hand;  in  Tomp- 


66  STOVERATYALE 

kins's  face  also  was  a  reminiscent  flash  of  the  fighting  face 
that  somehow,  in  any  test,  wins  half  the  battle. 

The  third  bout  went  to  the  sophomores,  Regan,  the 
choice  of  the  class,  being  nowhere  to  be  found.  But  the 
victory  was  with  the  freshmen,  who,  knit  suddenly  to 
gether  by  the  consciousness  of  a  power  to  rise  to  emergen 
cies,  carried  home  the  candidates  in  triumph. 

McCarthy,  with  his  arms  around  Stover  as  he  had  done 
in  the  old  school  days  after  a  grueling  football  contest, 
bore  Dink  up  to  their  rooms  with  joyful,  bearlike  hugs. 
Other  hands  were  on  him,  wafting  him  up  the  stairs  as 
though  riding  a  gale. 

"  Here,  let  me  down  will  you,  you  galoots !  "  he  cried 
vainly  from  time  to  time. 

Hilariously  they  carried  him  into  the  room  and  dumped 
him  down.  Other  freshmen,  following,  came  to  him, 
shaking  his  hand,  pounding  him  on  the  back. 

"Good  boy,  Stover!" 

"  What's  the  use  of  wrestling,  anyhow  ?  " 

"You're  it!" 

"  We're  all  for  you !  " 

"  The  old  sophomores  thought  they  had  it  cinched." 

"Three  cheers  for  Dink  Stover!" 

"  One  more !  " 

"And  again!" 

"Yippi!" 

McCarthy,  doubled  up  with  laughter,  stood  in  front 
of  him,  gazing  hilariously,  proudly  down. 

"  You  old  Dink,  you,  what  right  had  you  to  go  out  for 
it?" 

"  None  at  all." 

"  How  the  deuce  did  you  have  the  nerve  ?  " 

"  How  ?  "     For  the  first  time  the  question  impressed 


STOVERATYALE  67 

itself  on  him.  He  scratched  his  head  and  said  simply, 
unconscious  of  the  wide  application  of  what  he  said: 
"  Gee !  guess  I  didn't  stop  to  think  how  rotten  I  was." 
He  went  to  bed,  gorgeously  happy  with  the  first  throb 
bing,  satisfying  intoxication  of  success.  The  whole 
world  must  be  concerned  with  him  now.  He  was  no 
longer  unknown;  he  had  emerged,  freed  himself  from 
the  thralling  oblivion  of  the  mass. 


CHAPTER  VI 

STOVER  fondly  dreamed,  that  night,  of  his  triumphal 
appearance  on  the  field  the  following  day,  greeted 
by  admiring  glances  and  cordial  handshakes,  placed  at 
once  on  the  second  eleven,  watched  with  new  interest  by 
curious  coaches,  earning  an  approving  word  from  the 
captain  himself. 

When  he  did  come  on  the  field,  embarrassed  and  re 
luctantly  conscious  of  his  sudden  leap  to  world-wide 
fame,  no  one  took  the  slightest  notice  of  him.  Tomp- 
kins  did  not  vouchsafe  a  word  of  greeting.  To  his 
amazement,  Dana  again  passed  him  over  and  left  him 
restless  on  the  bench,  chafing  for  the  opportunity  that 
did  not  come.  The  second  and  the  third  afternoon  it 
was  the  same  —  the  same  indifference,  the  same  forgetful- 
ness.  And  then  he  suddenly  realized  the  stern  discipline 
of  it  all  —  unnecessary  and  stamping  out  individuality, 
it  seemed  to  him  at  first,  but  subordinating  everything 
to  the  one  purpose,  eliminating  the  individual  factor, 
demanding  absolute  subordination  to  the  whole,  sub 
merging  everything  into  the  machine  —  that  was  not  a 
machine  only,  when  once  accomplished,  but  an  immense 
idea  of  sacrifice  and  self-abnegation.  Directly,  clearly 
visualized,  he  perceived,  for  the  first  time,  what  he  was  to 
perceive  in  every  side  of  his  college  career,  that  a  stand 
ard  had  been  fashioned  to  which,  irresistibly,  subtly, 
he  would  have  to  conform ;  only  here,  in  the  free  domain 
of  combat,  the  standard  that  imposed  itself  upon  him  was 
something  bigger  than  his  own. 

68 


STOVERATYALE  69 

Meanwhile  the  college  in  all  its  activities  opened  be 
fore  him,  absorbing  him  in  its  routine.  The  great  mass 
of  his  comrades  to  be  gradually  emerged  from  the  blurred 
mists  of  the  first  day.  He  began  to  perceive  hundreds 
of  faces,  faces  that  fixed  themselves  in  his  memory,  rang 
ing  themselves,  dividing  according  to  his  first  impression 
into  sharply  defined  groups.  Fellows  sought  him  out, 
joined  him  when  he  crossed  the  campus,  asked  him  to 
drop  in. 

In  chapel  he  found  himself  between  Bob  Story,  a 
quiet,  self-contained,  likable  fellow,  popular  from  the 
first  from  a  certain  genuine  sweetness  and  charity  in  his 
character,  son  of  Judge  Story  of  New  Haven,  one  of  the 
most  influential  of  the  older  graduates ;  and  on  the  other 
side  Swazey,  a  man  of  twenty-five  or  six,  of  a  type  that 
frankly  amazed  him  —  rough,  uncouth,  with  thick  head 
and  neck,  rather  flat  in  the  face,  intrusive,  yellowish  eyes, 
under  lip  overshot,  one  ear  maimed  by  a  scar,  badly 
dressed,  badly  combed,  and  badly  shod.  Belying  this 
cloutish  exterior  was  a  quietness  of  manner  and  the 
dreamy  vision  of  a  passionate  student.  Where  he  came 
from  Stover  could  not  guess,  nor  by  what  strange  chance 
of  life  he  had  been  thrown  there.  In  front  of  him  was 
the  great  bulk  of  Regan,  always  bent  over  a  book  for  the 
last  precious  moments,  coming  and  going  always  with  the 
same  irresistible  steadiness  of  purpose.  He  had  not  been 
at  the  wrestling  the  opening  night,  he  had  not  been  out 
for  football,  because  his  own  affairs,  his  search  for  work, 
were  to  him  more  important ;  and,  looking  at  him,  Stover 
felt  that  he  would  never  allow  anything  to  divert  him 
from  his  main  purpose  in  college  —  first,  to  earn  his 
way,  and,  second,  to  educate  himself.  Stover,  with 
others,  had  urged  him  to  report  for  practise,  knowing, 
though  not  proclaiming  it,  that  there  lay  the  way  to 


70  STOVERATYALE 

friendships  that,  once  gained,  would  make  easy  his  prob 
lem. 

"  Not  yet,  Stover,"  said  Regan,  always  with  the  same 
finality  in  his  tone.  "  I've  got  to  see  my  way  clear ;  I've 
got  to  know  if  I  can  down  that  infernal  Greek  and  Latin 
first.  If  I  can,  I'm  coming  out." 

"  Where  do  you  room  ?  "  said  Stover. 

"  Oh,  out  about  a  mile  —  a  sort  of  rat-hole." 

"  I  want  to  drop  in  on  you." 

"  Come  out  sometime." 

"  Drop  in  on  me." 

"  I'm  going  to." 

"  I  say,  Regan,  why  don't  you  see  Le  Baron  ?  " 

"What  for?" 

"  Why,  he  might  —  might  give  you  some  good  tips," 
said  Stover,  a  little  embarrassed. 

"  Exactly.     Well,  I  prefer  to  help  myself." 

Stover  broke  out  laughing. 

"  You're  a  fierce  old  growler !  " 

"I  am." 

"  I  wish  you'd  come  around  a  little  and  let  the  fellows 
know  you." 

"  That  can  wait." 

"  I  say,  Regan,"  said  Stover  suddenly,  "  would  you 
mind  doing  the  waiting  over  at  our  joint?  " 

"Why  should  I?" 

"  Why,  I  thought,"  said  Stover,  not  saying  what  he 
had  thought,  "  I  thought  perhaps  you'd  find  it  more  con 
venient  at  Commons." 

"  Is  that  what  you  really  thought  ?  "  said  Regan,  with 
a  quizzical  smile. 

The  man's  perfect  simplicity  and  unconsciousness  im 
pressed  Stover  more  than  all  the  fetish  of  enthroned  up- 


STOVER    AT    YALE  71 

per  classmen ;  he  was  always  a  little  embarrassed  before 
Regan. 

"No,"  he  said  frankly,  "but,  Regan,  I  would  like  to 
have  you  with  us,  and  I  think  you'd  like  it." 

"We'll  talk  it  over,"  said  Regan  deliberately.  "I'll 
think  it  over  myself.  Good-by." 

Stover  put  out  his  hand  instinctively.  Their  hands 
held  each  other  a  moment,  and  their  eyes  met  in  open, 
direct  friendship. 

He  stood  a  moment  thoughtfully,  after  they  had  parted. 
What  he  had  offered  had  been  offered  impulsively.  He 
began  to  wonder  if  it  would  work  out  without  embar 
rassment  in  the  intimacy  of  the  eating-joint. 

The  crowd  that  they  had  joined  —  as  Gimbel  had 
predicted  —  had  taken  a  long  dining-room  cheerily 
lighted,  holding  one  table,  around  which  sixteen  ravenous 
freshmen  managed  to  squeeze  in  turbulent,  impatient 
clamor. 

Bob  Story,  Hunter  and  his  crowd,  Hungerford  and 
several  men  from  Groton  and  St.  Mark's,  Schley  and  his 
room-mate  Troutman  made  up  a  coterie  that  already  had 
in  it  the  elements  of  the  leadership  of  the  class. 

As  he  was  deliberating,  he  perceived  Joe  Hungerford 
rolling  along,  with  his  free  and  easy  slouch,  immersed 
in  the  faded  blue  sweater  into  which  he  had  lazily  bolted 
to  make  chapel,  a  cap  riding  on  the  exuberant  wealth  of 
blond  hair.  He  broached  the  subject  at  once: 

"  Say,  Hungerford,  you're  the  man  I  want." 

"  Fire  away." 

Stover  detailed  his  invitation  to  Regan,  concluding: 

"  Now,  tell  me  frankly  what  you  think." 

"  Have  him  with  us,  by  all  means,"  said  Hungerford 
impulsively. 


72  STOVER   AT   YALE 

"  Might  it  not  be  a  little  embarrassing?  How  do  you 
think  the  other  fellows  would  like  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  there's  only  one  way  to  take  it,"  said  Hunger- 
ford  directly.  "  Our  crowd's  too  damned  select  now  to 
suit  me.  We  need  him  a  darn  sight  more  than  he  needs 
us." 

"  I  knew  you'd  feel  that  way." 

"  By  George,  that's  why  I  came  to  Yale.  If  there  are 
any  little  squirts  in  the  crowd  think  differently,  a  swift 
kick  where  it'll  do  the  most  good  will  clear  the  atmos 
phere." 

Stover  looked  at  him  with  impulsive  attraction.  He 
was  boyish,  unspoiled,  eager. 

"  Now,  look  here,  Dink  —  you  don't  mind  me  calling 
you  that,  do  you  ?  "  continued  Hungerford,  with  a  little 
hesitation. 

"  Go  ahead." 

"  I  want  you  to  understand  how  I  feel  about  things. 
I've  got  about  everything  in  the  world  to  make  a  con 
ceited,  pompous,  useless  little  ass  out  of  me,  and  about 
two  hundred  people  who  want  to  do  it.  I  wish  to  blazes 
I  was  starting  where  Regan  is  —  where  my  old  dad  did ; 
I  might  do  something  worth  while.  Now,  I  don't  want 
any  hungry,  boot-licking  little  pups  around  me  whose 
bills  I  am  to  pay.  I  want  to  come  in  on  your  scale,  and 
I'm  mighty  glad  to  get  the  chance.  That's  why  my  al 
lowance  isn't  going  to  be  one  cent  more  than  yours ;  and  I 
want  you  to  know  it.  Now,  as  for  this  fellow  Regan  — 
he  sounds  like  a  man.  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  fix  it 
up  in  a  shake  of  a  lamb's  tail." 

"  Question  is  whether  Regan  will  come,"  said  Stover 
doubtfully. 

"  By  George,  I'll  make  him.  We'll  go  right  out  to 
gether  and  put  it  to  him." 


STOVER    AT    YALE  73 

Which  they  did ;  and  Regan,  yielding  to  the  open  cor 
diality  of  Hungerford,  accepted  and  promised  to  change 
at  the  end  of  his  week. 

In  the  second  week,  having  satisfactorily  arranged  his 
affairs  —  by  what  slender  margin  no  one  ever  knew  — 
Regan  reported  for  practise.  He  had  played  a  little 
football  in  the  Middle  West  and,  though  his  knowledge 
was  crude,  he  learned  slowly,  and  what  he  learned  he 
never  lost.  His  great  strength,  and  a  certain  quality 
which  was  moral  as  well  as  physical,  very  shortly  won 
him  the  place  of  right  guard,  where  with  each  week  he 
strengthened  his  hold. 

Regan's  introduction  at  the  eating-joint  had  been 
achieved  without  the  embarrassment  Stover  had  feared. 
He  came  and  went  with  a  certain  natural  dignity  that 
was  not  assumed,  but  was  inherent  in  the  simplicity  of  his 
character.  He  entered  occasionally  into  the  conversation 
and  always,  when  the  others  were  finished  and  tarrying 
over  the  tobacco,  brought  his  plate  to  a  vacant  place  and 
ate  his  supper;  but,  that  through,  though  often  urged, 
went  his  purposeful  way,  with  always  that  certain  solitary 
quality  about  him  that  made  approach  difficult  and  had 
left  him  friendless. 

On  the  fourth  afternoon  of  practise,  as  Stover,  re 
straining  the  raging  impatience  within  him,  resolved  that 
at  all  costs  he  would  not  show  the  chafing,  went  to  his 
place  on  the  imprisoning  bench,  watching  with  famished 
eyes  the  contending  lines,  Dana,  without  warning,  called 
from  the  open  field : 

"  Stover !     Stover !     Out  here !  " 

He  jumped  up,  oblivious  of  everything  but  the  sudden 
thumping  of  his  heart  and  the  curious  stir  in  the  ranks 
of  the  candidates. 


74  STOVERATYALE 

"  Here,  leave  your  sweater,"  shouted  Tompkins,  who 
had  repeated  the  summons. 

"Oh,  yes." 

Clumsily  entangled  in  the  folds  of  his  sweater,  he 
struggled  to  emerge.  Tompkins,  amid  a  roar  of  laughter, 
caught  the  arms  and  freed  him,  grinning  at  the  impetu- 
ousness  with  which  Stover  went  scudding  out. 

On  the  way  he  passed  the  man  he  was  replacing,  re 
turning  rebelliously  with  a  half  antagonistic,  half  appre 
hensive  glance  at  him. 

"  Take  left  end  on  the  scrub,"  said  Dana,  who  was 
not  in  the  line  of  scrimmage.  "  Farley,  give  him  the 
signals." 

The  scrub  quarter  hastily  poured  into  his  ears  the 
simple  code.  He  took  up  his  position.  The  play  was 
momentarily  halted  by  one  of  the  coaches,  who  was  haul 
ing  the  center  men  over  the  coals.  Opposite  Stover, 
Bangs,  senior,  was  standing,  legs  spread,  hands  on  his 
hips,  looking  at  him  with  a  look  Stover  never  forgot. 
For  three  years  he  had  plugged  along  his  way,  doggedly 
holding  his  place  in  the  scrubs,  patiently  waiting  for 
the  one  opportunity  to  come.  Now,  at  last,  after  the 
years  of  servitude,  standing  on  the  coveted  side  of  the 
line,  suddenly  here  was  a  freshman  with  a  big  reputation 
come  in  the  challenge  that  might  destroy  all  the  years 
of  patience  and  send  him  back  into  the  oblivion  of  tfie 
scrubs. 

Stover  understood  the  appealing  fury  of  the  look, 
even  in  all  the  pitilessness  of  his  ambition.  Something 
sharp  went  through  him  at  the  thought  of  the  man  for 
whose  position,  ruthlessly,  fiercely,  he  was  beginning  to 
fight. 

Five  or   six  coaches,  always  under  the   direction  of 


STOVERATYALE  75 

Case,  head  coach,  were  moving  restlessly  about  the  field, 
watching  for  the  first  rudimentary  faults.  One  or  two 
gave  him  quick  appraising  looks.  Stover,  moving  rest 
lessly  back  and  forth,  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  too  con 
scious  of  the  general  curiosity,  awaited  the  moment  of 
action.  The  discussion  around  the  center  ended. 

"  Varsity  take  the  ball,"  called  out  Dana ;  "  get  into  it, 
every  one !  " 

The  two  lines  sprang  quickly  into  position,  the  coaches, 
nervous  and  vociferous,  jumping  behind  the  unfortunate 
objects  of  their  wrath,  while  the  air  was  filled  with 
shrieked  advice  and  exhortation. 

"On  the  jump,  there,  Biggs!" 

"  Charge  low  !  " 

"  Oh,  get  down,  get  down ! " 

"  Break  up  this  play !  " 

"  Wake  up !  " 

"Smash  into  it!" 

"Charge!" 

"  Now !  " 

"  Block  that  man !  " 

f(  Throw  him  back !  " 

"Get  behind!" 

"  Push  him  on !  " 

"  Shove  him  on !  " 

"  Get  behind  and  shove !  " 

"Shove!" 

"Shove!     Oh,  shove!" 

Attack  and  defense  were  still  crude.  The  play  had 
gone  surging  around  the  opposite  end,  but  in  a  halting 
way,  the  runner  impeded  by  his  own  interference. 
Stover,  sweeping  around  at  full  speed,  was  able  to  down 
the  half  from  behind,  just  as  the  interference  succeeded 


76  STOVERATYALE 

in  clearing  the  way.  At  once  it  was  a  chorus  of  angry 
shouts,  each  coach  descending  on  the  particular  object 
of  his  wrath. 

"  Beautiful ! " 

"You're  a  wonder!" 

"  What  are  you  doing, —  growing  to  the  ground  ?  " 

"What  did  I  tell  you?" 

"  Say,  interference,  is  this  a  walking  match  ?  " 

"  Wonderful  speed  —  almost  got  away  from  the  op 
posite  end." 

"  Say,  Charley,  a  fast  lot  of  backs  we've  got." 

"  Line  'em  up !  " 

Two  or  three  plays  through  the  center,  struggling  and 
squirming  in  the  old  fashion  of  football,  were  succeeded 
by  several  tries  at  his  side.  Stover,  besides  three  years' 
hard  drilling,  had  a  natural  gift  of  diagnosis,  which,  with 
the  savagery  of  his  tackling,  made  him,  even  at  this 
period,  an  unusual  end,  easily  the  best  of  the  candidates 
on  the  field.  He  stood  on  guard,  turning  inside  the  at 
tack,  or  running  along  with  it  and  gradually  forcing  his 
man  out  of  bounds.  At  other  times  he  went  through  the 
loose  interference  and  caught  his  man  with  a  solid  lunge 
that  was  not  to  be  denied. 

The  varsity  being  forced  at  last  to  kick,  Bangs  came 
out  opposite  him  for  that  running  scrimmage  to  cover 
a  punt  that  is  the  final  test  of  an  end. 

Stover,  dropping  a  little  behind,  confident  in  his  mea 
sure  of  the  man,  caught  him  with  his  shoulder  on  the  start, 
throwing  him  off  balance  for  a  precious  moment,  and 
then  followed  him  down  the  field,  worrying  him  like  a 
sheep-dog  pursuing  a  rebellious  member  of  his  flock,  and 
caught  him  at  the  last  with  a  quick  lunge  at  the  knees  that 
sent  him  sprawling  out  of  the  play.  Up  on  his  feet  in  a 
minute,  Stover  went  racing  after  his  fullback,  in  time  to 


STOVERATYALE  7T 

give  the  impetus  of  his  weight  that  sent  him  over  his.* 
tackle,  falling  forward. 

"  How  in  blazes  did  that  scrub  end  get  back  here  ?  " 
shouted  out  Harden,  a  coach,  a  famous  end  himself.  He 
came  up  the  field  with  Bangs,  grabbing  him  by  the  shoul 
der,  gesticulating  furiously,  his  fist  flourishing,  crying: 

"  Here,  Dana,  give  us  that  play  over  again ! " 

A  second  time  Bangs  sought  to  elude  Stover,  goaded  on 
by  the  taunts  of  Harden,  who  accompanied  them. 
Quicker  in  speed  and  with  a  power  of  instinctive  appli 
cation  of  his  strength,  Stover  hung  to  his  man,  putting 
him  out  of  the  play  despite  his  frantic  efforts. 

Harden,  furious,  railed  at  him. 

"  What !  You  let  a  freshman  put  you  out  of  the 
play?  Where's  your  pride?  In  the  name  of  Heaven  do 
something !  Why,  they're  laughing  at  you,  Ben, —  they're 
giving  you  the  laugh !  " 

Bangs,  senior  society  man,  manager  of  the  crew,  took 
the  driving  and  the  leash  without  a  protest,  knowing 
though  he  did  that  the  trouble  was  beyond  him  —  that  he 
was  up  against  a  better  man. 

Suddenly  Harden  turned  on  Stover,  who,  a  little  apart, 
was  moving  uneasily,  feeling  profoundly  sorry  for  the 
tanning  Bangs  was  receiving  on  his  account. 

"  Look  here,  young  fellow,  you're  not  playing  that 
right." 

Stover  was  amazed. 

"  What's  the  first  thing  you've  got  to  think  about  when 
you  follow  down  your  end  ?  " 

"  Keep  him  out  of  the  play,"  said  Stover. 

"Never!"  Harden  seized  him  by  the  jersey,  attack 
ing  with  his  long  expostulating  forefinger,  just  as  he  had 
laid  down  the  law  to  Bangs.  "  Never !  That's  grand 
stand  playing,  my  boy ;  good  for  you,  rotten  for  the  team. 


78  STOVER    AT    YALE 

The  one  thing  you've  got  to  do  first,  last,  and  always,  is  to 
know  where  the  ball  is  and  what's  happening  to  it. 
Understand?" 

"Yes,   sir." 

"  Now  you  didn't  do  that.  You  went  down  with  your 
eyes  on  your  man  only,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  You  never  looked  at  your  back  to  see  if  he  fumbled, 
did  you?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  And  if  he  had,  where'd  you  have  been  ?  If  he  holds 
it  all  right,  knock  over  your  end,  but  if  he  fumbles  you've 
got  to  beat  every  one  to  it  and  recover  it.  You're  one  of 
eleven  men,  not  a  newspaper  phenomenon  —  get  that  in 
your  head.  You  didn't  know  I  was  trying  you  out  as 
well  as  Bangs.  Now  let  it  sink  into  you.  Do  you  get 
it?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  thank  you,"  said  Stover,  furious  at  himself, 
for  if  there  was  one  thing  that  was  instinctive  in  him  it 
was  this  cardinal  quality  of  following  the  ball  and  be 
ing  in  every  play. 

It  was  a  day  of  the  hardest,  trying  alike  to  the  nerves 
of  coaches  and  men,  when  the  teams  were  driven  without 
a  rest,  when  tempers  were  strained  to  the  snapping  point, 
in  the  effort  to  instil  not  so  much  the  details  of  the  game 
as  the  inflaming  spirit  of  combat. 

It  was  dusk  before  the  coaches  called  a  halt  to  the 
practise  and  sent  them,  steaming  and  panting,  aching  in 
every  joint,  back  to  the  gymnasium  for  a  rub-down. 

Climbing  wearily  into  the  car  to  sink  gratefully  into  a 
seat,  Dink  suddenly,  to  his  confusion,  found  himself  by 
the  side  of  Bangs. 

"  Hello,"  said  the  senior,  looking  up  with  a  grin,  "  I 
hope  every  muscle  in  your  body's  aching." 


STOVER   AT   YALE  79 

"  It  certainly  is,"  said  Stover,  relieved. 

Bangs  looked  at  him  a  long  moment,  shook  his  head, 
and  said: 

"  I  wish  I  could  drop  a  ton  of  brick  on  you." 

"Why?" 

"  I've  plugged  away  for  years,  slaved  like  a  nigger  at 
this  criminal  game,  thought  I  was  going  to  get  my  chance 
at  last,  and  now  you  come  along." 

"  Oh,  I  say,"  said  Stover  in  real  confusion. 

"  Oh,  I'll  make  you  fight  for  it,"  said  the  other,  with 
a  snap  of  his  jaws.  "  But,  boy,  there's  one  thing  I  liked. 
When  that  old  rhinoceros  of  a  Harden  was  putting  the 
hooks  into  me,  you  never  eased  up  for  a  second." 

"  I  knew  you'd  feel  that  way." 

"  If  you'd  done  differently  I'd  slaughtered  you,"  said 
Bangs.  "  Well,  good  luck  to  you !  " 

He  smiled,  but  back  of  the  smile  Stover  saw  the  cruel 
cut  of  disappointment. 

And  this  feeling  was  stronger  in  him  than  any  feeling 
of  elation  as  he  returned  to  his  rooms,  after  the  late 
supper.  He  had  never  known  anything  like  the  fierce 
ness  of  that  first  practise.  It  was  not  play  with  the  zest 
he  loved,  it  was  a  struggle  of  ambitions  with  all  the  heart 
ache  that  lay  underneath.  He  had  gone  out  to  play,  and 
suddenly  found  himself  in  a  school  for  character,  en 
chained  to  the  discipline  of  the  Caesars,  where  the  test  lay 
in  stoicism  and  the  victory  was  built  on  the  broken  hopes 
of  a  comrade. 

For  the  first  time,  a  little  appalled,  he  felt  the  weight 
of  the  seriousness,  the  deadly  seriousness  of  the  Ameri 
can  spirit,  which  seizes  on  everything  that  is  competi 
tion  and  transforms  it,  with  the  savage  fanaticism  of  its 
race,  for  success. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AFTER  a  week  of  grueling  practise,  the  first  game  of 
the  season  came  like  a  holiday.  Stover  was  called 
out  after  the  first  few  minutes,  replacing  Bangs,  and  re 
mained  until  the  close.  He  played  well,  aided  by  several 
fortunate  opportunities,  earning  at  the  last  a  pat  on  the 
back  from  Dana  which  sent  him  home  rejoicing.  The 
showing  of  the  team  was  disappointing,  even  for  that  early 
season.  The  material  was  plainly  lacking  in  the  line,  and 
at  full-back  the  kicking  was  lamentably  weak.  The 
coaches  went  off  with  serious  faces ;  throughout  the  col 
lege  assembled  on  the  stands  was  a  spreading  premonition 
of  disaster. 

Saturday  night  was  privileged,  with  the  long,  grateful 
Sunday  morning  sleep  ahead. 

"  Dink,  ahoy ! "  shouted  McNab's  cheerful  voice  over 
the  banister,  as  he  entered  the  house. 

"  Hello,  there !  " 

"  How's  the  boy  wonder,  the  only  man-eating  Dink  in 
captivity  ?  " 

"  Tired  as  the  deuce." 

"  Fine.  First  rate,"  said  McNab,  skipping  down. 
"  Forget  the  past,  think  only  of  the  bright  furniture. 
We've  got  a  block  of  tickets  for  Poll's  Daring-Dazzling- 
Delightful  Vaudeville  to-night.  You're  elected.  We'll 
end  up  with  a  game  at  Reynolds'.  Seen  the  Evening 
Register?  " 

"  No." 

"  My  boy,  you  are  famous,"  said  McNab,  brandishing 

80 


STOVERATYALE  81 

a  paper.  "  I'm  lovelier,  but  you  get  the  space.  Never 
mind,  I'll  be  arrested  soon  —  anything  to  get  in  the  pa 
pers  ! " 

While  McNab's  busy  tongue  ran  on,  Stover  was  gaz 
ing  at  the  account  of  the  game,  where,  among  the  second 
ary  headlines,  there  stared  out  at  him  the  caption: 

STOVER,  A  FRESHMAN,  PLAYS 
SENSATIONAL  GAME. 

The  thing  was  too  incredible.  He  stood  stupidly  look 
ing  at  it. 

"  How  do  you  feel  ?  "  said  McNab,  taking  his  pulse  pro 
fessionally. 

There  was  no  answer  Stover  could  give  to  that  first 
throbbing  sensation  at  seeing  his  name  —  his  own  name  — 
in  print.  It  left  him  confused,  almost  a  little  fright 
ened. 

"  Why,  Dink,  you're  modest,"  said  the  irrepressible 
McNab;  and,  throwing  open  the  door,  he  shouted  at  the 
top  of  his  voice :  "  I  say,  fellows,  come  down  and  see 
Dink  blush." 

A  magnificent  scrimmage,  popularly  known  as  a 
"  rough  house,"  ensued,  in  which  McNab  was  properly 
chastised,  though  not  a  whit  subdued. 

McCarthy  arrived  late,  with  the  freshman  eleven,  back 
from  a  close  contest  with  a  school  team.  They  took  a 
hurried  supper,  and  went  down  a  dozen  strong,  in  jovial 
marching  order. 

The  sensations  of  the  theater  were  still  new  to  Stover, 
nor  had  his  fortunate  eye  seen  under  the  make-up  or  his 
imagination  gone  below  the  laughter.  To  parade  down 
the  aisle,  straight  as  a  barber's  pole,  chin  carefully  bal 
anced  on  the  sharp  edge  of  his  collar,  on  the  night  of  his 


82  STOVER   AT    YALE 

first  day  as  end  on  the  Yale  varsity,  delightfully  conscious 
of  his  own  startling  importance,  feeling  as  if  he  over 
topped  every  one  in  the  most  public  fashion,  to  be  abso 
lutely  blushingly  conscious  that  every  one  in  the  theater 
must,  too,  be  grasping  a  copy  of  that  night's  Evening 
Register,  that  every  glance  had  started  at  his  arrival  and 
was  following  in  set  admiration,  was  a  memory  he  was 
never  to  forget.  His  shoulders  thrown  up  a  little,  just 
a  little  in  accentuation,  as  behooved  an  end  with  a  repu 
tation  for  tackling,  he  found  his  seat  and,  dropping  down 
quickly  to  escape  observation,  buried  himself  in  his  pro 
gram  to  appear  modest  before  the  burning  concentra 
tion  of  attention  which  he  was  quite  sure  must  now  be 
focused  on  him. 

"  Dobbs  and  Benzigger,  the  fellows  who  smash  the 
dishes  —  by  George,  that's  great!"  cried  McNab,  joy 
fully  running  over  the  program.  "  They're  wonders  — 
a  perfect  scream !  " 

"  Any  good  dancing  ?  "  said  Hungerford,  and  a  dozen 
answers  came : 

"  You  bet  there  is !  " 

"  Fanny  Lamonte  —  a  dream,  Joe !  " 

"  Daintiest  thing  you  ever  saw." 

"  Sweetest  little  ankles !  " 

"  Who's  this  coming  —  the  Six  Templeton  Sisters  ?  " 

"  Don't  know." 

"Well,  here  they  come." 

"  They've  got  to  be  pretty  fine  for  me ! " 

Enthroned  as  lords  of  the  drama,  they  pronounced 
their  infallible  judgments.  Every  joke  was  new,  every 
vaudeville  turn  an  occasion  for  a  gale  of  applause.  The 
appearance  of  the  "  Six  Templetons  "  was  the  occasion  of 
a  violent  discussion  between  the  adherents  of  the  blondes 


STOVERATYALE  83 

and  the  admirers  of  the  brunettes,  led  by  the  impression 
able  McNab. 

"  I'm  all  for  the  peach  in  the  middle !  " 

"  Ah,  rats !  She's  got  piano  legs.  Look  at  the  fighting 
brunette  at  this  end." 

"  Why,  she's  got  a  squint." 

"  Squint  nothing ;  she's  winking  at  me." 

"Yes,  she  is!" 

"  Watch  me  get  her  eye !  " 

Stover,  of  course,  preserved  an  attitude  of  necessary 
dignity,  gently  tolerant  of  the  rakish  sentimentalities 
of  the  younger  members  of  the  flock.  Moreover,  he 
was  supremely  aware  that  the  sparkling  eyes  under  the 
black  curls  (were  they  real?)  were  not  looking  at  Mc 
Nab,  but  intensely  directed  at  his  own  person  —  all  of 
which,  as  she  could  not  have  read  the  Register,  was  a  trib 
ute  to  his  own  personal  and  not  public  charms. 

The  lights,  the  stir  of  the  audience,  the  boxes  rilled 
with  the  upper  classmen,  the  gorgeous  costumes,  the 
sleepy  pianist  pounding  out  the  accompaniments  while  ac 
complishing  the  marvelous  feat  of  reading  a  newspaper, 
were  all  things  to  him  of  fascination.  But  his  eye  went 
not  to  the  roguish  professional  glances,  but  lost  itself 
somewhere  abojye  amid  the  ragged  drops  and  borders. 
He  was  transported  into  the  wonders  of  Dink-land, 
where  one  figure  ran  a  hundred  adventures,  where  a  hun 
dred  cheers  rose  to  volley  forth  one  name,  where  a 
dozen  games  were  passed  in  a  second,  triumphant,  daz 
zling,  rilled  with  spectacular  conflicts,  blurred  with  frantic 
crowds  of  blue,  ending  always  in  surging  black-hatted 
rushes  that  tossed  him  victoriously  toward  the  stars ! 

"  Let's  cut  out,"  said  McNab's  distinct  voice. 
"There's  nothing  but  xylophones  and  coons  left." 


84  STOVER    AT    YALE 

"  Come  on  over  to  Reynolds's." 

"  Start  up  the  game." 

Reluctantly,  fallen  to  earth  again,  Stover  rose  and  fol 
lowed  them  out.  In  a  moment  they  had  passed  through 
the  fragrant  casks  and  bottles  that  thronged  the  passage, 
saluting  the  statesmanly  bulk  of  Hugh  Reynolds,  and 
found  themselves  in  a  back  room,  already  floating  in 
smoke.  White,  accusing  lights  of  bracketed  lamps  picked 
out  the  gray  features  of  a  dozen  men  vociferously  rolling 
forth  -a  drinking  chorus,  while  the  magic  arms  of  Buck 
Waters,  his  falcon's  nose  and  little  muzzle  eyes,  domi 
nated  the  whole.  A  shout  acclaimed  them : 

"Yea,  fellows!" 

"Shove  inhere!" 

"Get  into  the  game." 

"  Bartender,  a  little  more  of  that  brutalizing  beer !  " 

"  Cheese  and  pretzels !  " 

"  Hello,  Tough  McCarthy !  " 

"  Over  here,  Dopey  McNab." 

"  Get  into  the  orchestra." 

"  Good  boy,  Stover !  " 

"  Congratulations ! " 

"  Oh,  Dink  Stover,  have  we  your  eye  ?  " 

The  last  call,  caught  up  by  every  voice,  went  swelling 
in  volume,  accompanied  by  a  general  uplifting  of  mugs 
and  glasses.  It  was  the  traditional  call  to  a  health. 

"  I'd  like  to  oblige,"  said  Dink,  a  little  embarrassed, 
"  but  I'm  in  training." 

"  That's  all  right  —  hand  him  a  soft  one." 

For  the  first  time  he  perceived  that  there  was  a  per 
fect  freedom  in  the  choice  of  beverage.  He  bowed, 
drained  his  glass,  and  sat  down. 

"  Oh,  Dopey  McNab,  have  we  your  eye  ?  " 

"  You  certainly  have,  boys,  and  Pm  no  one-eyed  man 


STOVER    AT    YALE  85 

at  that,"  said  McNab,  jovially  disappearing  down  a  mug, 
while  the  room  in  chorus  trolled  out: 

"  Drink  the  wine  divine 
As  long  as  you  can  stand  it. 
Hand  the  bowl  around 
As  long  as  you  can  hand  it. 
Drink  your  glass, 
Drink  your  glass, 
Dri-i-i-i-ink  —  he's  drunk  it  down." 

"  Oh,  Jim  Hunter,  have  we  your  eye  ?  " 

Each  new  arrival  in  turn,  called  to  his  feet,  rose  and 
drained  his  glass  to  a  hilarious  accompaniment,  while 
Stover,  to  his  surprise,  noted  that  fully  a  third  of  the 
crowd  were  ordering  soft  drinks. 

"Oh,  Dink  Stover,  here's  to  you!" 

From  across  the  table  Tommy  Bain,  lifting  his  glass 
of  ginger  ale,  smiled  a  gracious  smile. 

"  Same  to  you,  Tommy  Bain." 

The  fellow  who  had  addressed  him  was  a  leader  among 
the  Hotchkiss  crowd,  out  for  coxswain,  already  spoken 
of  for  one  of  the  class  managerships.  He  was  a  diminu 
tive  type,  immaculately  neat,  black  hair  exactly  parted 
and  unflurried,  well  jacketed,  turn-down  collar  embel 
lished  with  a  red-and-yellow  four-in-hand,  a  rather  large, 
bulbous  nose,  and  thin  eyes  that  were  never  quiet  — 
shrewd,  direct,  inquisitive,  always  estimating.  He  was 
smiling  again,  raising  his  glass  to  some  one  else  down 
the  table,  and  the  smile  that  passed  easily  over  his  lips 
had  the  quality  of  seeming  to  come  from  the  heart. 

McNab  and  Buck  Waters,  natural  leaders  of  the  revels, 
arms  locked,  were  giving  a  muscular  exhibition  of  joint 
conducting,  while  the  room  in  chorus  sang: 


86  STOVERATYALE 

"  Should  fortune  prove  unkind, 
Should  fortune  prove  unfair, 
A  cure  I  have  in  mind 
To  drive  away  all  care." 

"  By  George !  "  said  Hungerford,  at  his  side,  laughing, 
"  it's  good  to  be  in  the  game  at  last,  isn't  it,  Dink  ?  " 

"  It  certainly  is." 

"  We've  got  a  great  crowd ;  it's  going  to  be  a  great 
class." 

"  Who's  Bain  ?  "  said  Dink,  under  his  breath. 

"  Bain  —  oh,  he's  a  clever  chap,  probably  be  a  class 
deacon.  That's  another  good  thing  about  this  place :  we 
can  all  get  together  and  drink  what  we  want." 

"  Chorus !  "  cried  McNab  and  Waters,  with  a  twin 
flourish  of  their  arms. 

"  Chorus ! "  shouted  Hungerford  and  Bain,  raising 
their  glasses  in  accompaniment. 

"  For  to-night  we  will  be  merry 
As  the  rosy  wine  we  drink  — 
The  rosy  wine  we  drink !  " 

"Yea!" 

"  A  little  more  close  harmony !  " 

A  great  shout  acclaimed  the  chorus  and  another  song 
was  started. 

Hunter  and  Bain  were  opposite  each  other,  surrounded 
as  it  were  by  adherents,  each  already  aware  of  the  other, 
measuring  glances,  serious,  unrelaxing,  never  unbending, 
never  departing  a  moment  from  the  careful  attitude  of 
critical  aloofness.  In  the  midst  of  the  rising  hilarity  and 
the  rebellious  joy  of  newly  gained  liberty,  the  two  rival 
leaders  sat  singing,  but  not  of  the  song,  the  same  placid, 
maliciously  superior  smile  floating  over  the  perfectly  con- 


STOVER    AT    YALE  87 

trolled  lips  of  Bain,  while  in  the  anointed  gaze  of 
Hunter  was  a  ponderous  seriousness  which  at  that  age  is 
ascribed  to  a  predestined  Napoleonic  melancholy. 

"  Solo  from  Buck  Waters !  " 

"Solo!" 

"On  the  chair!" 

"  Yea,  Buck  Waters  !  " 

Yielding  to  the  outcry  Waters  was  thrust  upward. 

"  The  cowboy  orchestra !  " 

"  Give  us  the  cowboy  orchestra !  " 

"  The   cowboy  orchestra,   ladies   and  gentlemen." 

With  a  wave  of  his  hand  he  organized  the  room  into 
drums,  bugles,  and  trombones,  announcing: 

"  The  orchestra  will  tune  up  and  play  this  little  tune, 

'  Ta-de-dee-ra-ta-ra-ta-rata, 
Ta-de-dee-ra-ta-ra-ta-rata-ta ! ' 

"  All  ready  ?  Lots  of  action  there  —  a  little  more  cy 
clonic  from  the  trombones.  Fine !  Whenever  I  give  the 
signal  the  orchestra  will  burst  forth  into  that  melodious 
refrain.  I  will  now  give  an  imitation  of  a  professional 
announcer  at  Buffalo  Bill's  Wild  West  Show  and  Con 
gress  of  Rough  Riders.  Orchestra : 

"  Ta-de-dee-rata-rata-rata 
Ta-de-dee-rata-rata-rata-ta ! " 

While  Waters,  with  his  great  comical  face  shining 
above  the  gleeful  crowd  like  a  harvest  moon  rising  from 
the  lake,  continued  endlessly  drawling  out  his  nasal  imi 
tations,  the  crowd,  for  the  first  time  welded  together, 
rocked  and  shouted  out  the  farcical  chorus.  When  he 
had  ended,  Buck  Waters  sat  down,  enthroned  forever 
afterward  master  of  song  and  revels. 


88  STOVERATYALE 

Bain  began  to  cast  estimating  glances,  calculating  on 
the  moment  to  leave.  At  the  other  end  Waters  was 
fairly  smothered  under  the  rush  of  delighted  comrades, 
patting  him  on  the  back,  acclaiming  his  rise  to  fame. 
The  tables  settled  down  into  a  sentimental  refrain  led  by 
Stone's  clear  tenor. 

Dink's  glance,  traveling  down  the  table,  was  suddenly 
attracted  by  the  figure  of  a  young  fellow  with  a  certain 
defiant  yet  shy  individuality  in  its  pose. 

"Who's  the  rather  dark  chap  just  beyond  Dopey?" 
he  asked  Hungerford. 

"  Don't  know ;  ask  Schley." 

"  Brockhurst  —  Sidney  Brockhurst,"  said  Schley,  not 
lowering  his  voice,  "  from  Hill  School.  Trying  for  the 
Lit.  Clever  chap,  they  say,  but  a  little  long-haired." 

Stover  studied  him,  his  curiosity  awakened.  Brock 
hurst,  of  all  present,  seemed  the  most  solitary  and  the 
most  self-conscious.  He  had  a  long  head,  high,  thin 
cheeks,  and  a  nervous  little  habit,  when  intent  or  con 
scious  of  being  watched,  of  drawing  his  fingers  over  his 
lips.  His  head  was  thrown  back  a  little  proudly,  but 
the  eyes  contradicted  this  attitude,  with  the  acute  shyness 
in  them  that  clouded  a  certain  keen  imaginative  scrutiny. 

At  this  moment  his  eyes  met  Stover's.  Dink,  yielding 
to  an  instinct,  raised  his  glass  and  smiled.  Brockhurst 
hastily  seized  his  mug  in  response,  spilling  a  little  of  it 
and  dropping  his  glance  quickly.  Once  or  twice,  as  if 
unpleasantly  conscious  of  the  examination,  he  turned  un 
easily. 

"  He  looks  rather  interesting,"  said  Stover  thought 
fully. 

"Think  so?"  said  Schley.     "  Rather  freaky  to  me." 

Suddenly  a  shout  went  up: 

"Come  in!" 


STOVERATYALE  89 

"Yea,  Sheff!" 

"Yea,  Tom  Kelly!" 

The  narrow  doorway  was  suddenly  alive  with  a  boister 
ous,  rollicking  crowd  of  Sheff  freshmen,  led  by  Tom 
Kelly,  a  short,  roly-poly,  alert  little  fellow  with  a  sharp 
pointing  nose  and  a  great  half-moon  of  a  mouth. 

"Come  in,  Kelly!" 

"  Crowd  in,  fellows !  " 

"  Oh,  Tom,  join  us !  " 

"  I  will  not  come  in,"  said  Kelly,  with  a  certain  painful 
beery  assumption  of  dignity.  He  balanced  himself  a  mo 
ment,  steadied  by  his  neighbors ;  and  then,  to  the  delight 
of  the  room,  began,  with  the  utmost  gravity,  one  of  his 
inimitable  imitations  of  the  lords  that  sit  enthroned  in  the 
faculty. 

"  I  come,  not  to  stultify  myself  in  the  fumes  of  liquor, 
but  to  do  you  good.  Beer  is  brutalizing.  With  your 
kind  permission,  I  will  whistle  you  a  few  verses  of  a 
noble  poem  on  same  subject." 

"Whistle,  Tom?" 

"  The  word  was  whistle,"  said  Kelly  sternly.  Extend 
ing  his  arm  for  silence,  he  proceeded,  with  great  in 
tensity  and  concentrated  facial  expression,  to  whistle  a 
sort  of  improvisation.  Then,  suddenly  ceasing,  he  con 
tinued  : 

"  And  what  does  this  beautiful,  ennobling  little  thing 
teach  us,  written  by  a  great  mind,  one  of  the  greatest, 
greatest  minds  —  what  does  it  teach  us  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  does  it  teach  ?  "  said  one  or  two  voices, 
after  Kelly  had  preserved  a  statuesque  pose  beyond  the 
limits  of  their  curiosity. 

"  Ask  me,"  said  Kelly,  with  dignity. 

"  Mr.  Kelly,"  said  McNab  rising  seriously,  "  what 
does  this  little  gem  of  intellectuality,  this  as  it  were 


90  STOVERATYALE 

psycho-therapeutical  cirrhosis  of  a  paleontological  state, 
-you  get  my  meaning,  of  course, —  that  is,  from  the 
point  of  view  of  modern  introspective  excavations,  with 
due  regard  to  whatever  the  sixth  dimension,  considered 
as  such,  may  have  of  influence,  and  allowing  that  a  cer 
tain  amount  of  error  is  inherent  in  Spanish  cooking  if 
eggs  are  boiled  in  a  chafing-dish  —  admitting  all  this,  I 
ask  you  a  simple  question.  Do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Kelly,  who  had  followed  this  serious 
harangue  with  strained  attention.  "  And,  moreover,  I 
agree  with  you." 

"  You  agree  ?  "  said  McNab,  feigning  surprise. 

"  I  do." 

"  Sir,  you  are  a  congenial  soul.     Shake  hands." 

But,  in  the  act  of  stealing  this  sudden  friendship, 
Kelly  brought  forth  his  hand,  when  it  was  perceived  that 
he  was  tightly  clutching  a  pool-ball,  and,  moreover,  that 
his  pockets  were  bulging  like  a  sort  of  universal  mumps 
with  a  dozen  inexplicable  companions.  A  shout  went 
up: 

"  Why,  he's  swallowed  a  frame  of  pool-balls !  " 

"  He  certainly  has." 

"  He's  swiped  them." 

"  He's  wrecked  a  pool-room." 

"  How  the  deuce  did  he  do  it?  " 

"  Why,  Tom,  where  did  you  get  'em?  " 

"  Testimonial  —  testimonial  of  affection,"  replied 
Kelly,  "  literally  showered  on  me." 

'  Tom,  you  stole  them." 

"  I  did  not  steal  them !  " 
'  Tom,  you  stole  them!  ' 

"Tom,  O  Tom!" 

Kelly,  who  had  proceeded  to  empty  his  pockets  for  an 
exhibition,  becoming  abruptly  offended  at  the  universal 


STOVERATYALE  91 

shouted  accusation,  repocketed  the  pool-balls  and  de 
parted,  despite  a  storm  of  protest  and  entreaties,  carry 
ing  with  him  McNab. 

A  number  of  the  crowd  were  passing  beyond  control ; 
others,  inflexible,  smiling,  continued  in  their  attitude  of 
spectators,  Brockhurst  because  he  could  not  forget  him 
self,  Hunter  and  Bain  because  they  would  not. 

"  Time  for  us  to  be  cutting  out,"  said  Hunter,  with  a 
glance  at  his  watch.  "  What  about  it,  Stover  ?  " 

Dink  was  annoyed  that  he  had  not  made  the  move 
himself.  McCarthy,  Hungerford,  and  one  or  two  of  the 
freshman  candidates  arose.  A  shout  went  up  from  the 
noisy  end  of  the  table. 

"  Here !  no  quitting !  " 

"Cowards!" 

"  Come  back !  " 

"  Shut  up ;  it's  the  football  crowd !  " 

"Oh,  football,  eh?" 

"  Right." 

"  Splendid ! " 

Stover  with  a  serious  face,  shook  hands  with  Trout- 
man,  a  red-haired  fellow  with  sharp  advancing  features 
who  said  impressively : 

"  Mr.  Stover,  I  wish  to  express  for  my  friends  the 
gratification,  the  extreme  gratification,  the  extreme  moral 
gratification  we  feel  at  seeing  a  football  —  a  football  can 
didate  showing  such  moral  courage  —  moral  —  it's  won 
derful  —  it  moves  me.  Mr.  Stover,  I'd  like  to  shake  your 
hand." 

Dink  laughed  and  escaped,  seeing,  in  a  last  glance  at 
the  vaporous  fitful  room,  Troutman  solemnly  giving  his 
hand  to  Waters,  whom  he  was  congratulating  on  his  ex 
treme  moral  courage  in  remaining. 

Tommy  Bain,  in  the  confusion,  slipped  out  unnoticed 


92  STOVERATYALE 

and  joined  them.  The  last  swollen  burst  of  the  song 
was  shut  from  them.  They  went  back  toward  the  campus 
in  twos  and  threes,  over  the  quiet,  moist  pavement,  past 
the  noisy  windows  of  Mory's  —  where  no  freshmen  need 
apply  —  to  the  Common,  where  suddenly,  in  the  moon 
lit  shadow  of  a  great  elm,  they  found  a  vociferous  group 
with  Tom  Kelly  and  McNab  in  the  midst. 

At  this  moment  something  fell  from  the  skies  within 
perilous  distance. 

"  What  the  deuce  is  that?  "  said  Hungerford,  jumping 
back. 

"  Why,  it's  a  pool-ball,"  said  Stone,  stooping  down. 

Another  fell,  just  missing  Hunter's  shoulders. 

"  It's  Kelly/'  said  Bain,  "  and  he's  firing  at  us." 

With  a  rush  they  joined  the  group,  to  find  Kelly,  de 
termined  and  enthusiastic,  solemnly  discharging  his 
ammunition  at  the  great  bulbous  moon  that  was  set 
lumberingly  above  them.  They  joined  the  group  that 
surrounded  him,  expostulating,  sober  or  fuddled : 

"  Don't  be  an  ass,  Tom." 

"  The  cops  are  coming." 

"  I  say,  come  on  home." 

"  How  many  more  has  he  got  ?  " 

"  Get  him  home,  you  fellows." 

"  Stop  him/' 

Meanwhile,  abetted  by  the  admiring,  delighted  McNab, 
Tom  Kelly,  taking  the  most  solicitous  aim,  was  continu 
ing  his  serious  efforts  to  hit  the  moon  with  the  pool -balls 
which  he  had  procured  no  one  knew  how. 

"  I  say,  McNab,"  said  Stover,  drawing  him  aside, 
"  better  get  him  to  stop  now.  Too  many  cops  around. 
Use  your  influence  —  he'll  listen  to  you." 

McNab's  sense  of  responsibility  having  thus  become 


STOVERATYALE  93 

violently  agitated,  he  wabbled  up  to  the  laboring  Kelly, 
and  the  following  historic  dialogue  took  place: 

"  I  say,  Tom,  old  fellow,  you  know  me,  don't  you  ? 
You  know  I'm  a  good  sort,  don't  you  —  one  of  the  fin 
est?" 

"  I  know  you,  Dopey  McNab ;  I'm  proud  to  know  you/' 

"  I  want  to  speak  a  word  with  you  seriously." 

"What?" 

"  Seriously." 

"  Say  on." 

"  Now,  seriously,  Tom,  do  you  think  you  can  hit  it?" 

"  Don't  know ;  going  to  try's  much  as  in  me.     Biff !  " 

"  Hold  up,"  said  McNab,  staying  his  hand.  "  Tom, 
I'm  going  to  appeal  to  you  as  man  to  man." 

"Appeal." 

"  You  understand  —  as  man  to  man." 

"  Sure." 

"  You're  a  man ;  I'm  a  man." 

"  The  finest." 

"  Now  as  man  to  man,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  the  truth." 

"The  whole  truth?" 

"  Solemn  truth." 

"  Tell  on." 

"  You  can't  hit  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Tom,  it's  too  —  too  far  away !  " 

The  two  shook  hands  solemnly  and  impressively. 

"  Can't  hit  it  —  too  far  away,"  said  Kelly,  with  the 
pool-ball  clutched  tight.  "  Too  far  away,  eh  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Tom,"  said  McNab,  tearfully  breaking  the 
news,  "  it's  too  far  —  entirely  too  far  away.  You  can't 
reach  it,  Tom;  believe  me,  as  man  to  man  —  you  can't, 
you  can  never,  never  hit  it." 


94  STOVERATYALE 

"  I  know  I  can't,  Dopey,"  said  Kelly,  in  an  equally 
mournful  tone,  "  I  know  all  that.  All  that  you  say  is 
true.  But,  Dopey,  suppose  I  should  hit  it,  suppose  I 
should,  just  think  —  think  —  how  my  name  would  go 
reeling  and  rocking  down  to  fushure  generations! 
Biff!" 

They  left  McNab  overcome  by  the  impressiveness  of 
this  argument,  busily  gathering  up  the  pool-balls,  re 
solved  that  every  opportunity  should  be  given  Kelly  to 
rank  among  the  immortals. 

Stover  would  have  liked  to  stay.  For  the  moment, 
almost  a  rebellion  swept  over  him  at  the  drudgery  to 
which  he  had  condemned  himself  in  his  ambition.  He 
saw  again  the  low  table,  through  the  smoke,  and  Buck 
Waters's  jovial  pagan  face  leading  the  crowd  in  lazy, 
care-free  abandon.  He  felt  that  liberty,  that  zest  of  life, 
that  wild  spirit  of  youth  for  which  he  yearned  and  of 
which  he  had  been  defrauded  by  Le  Baron's  hand,  that 
hand  which  had  ruthlessly  torn  away  the  veil.  Some 
thing  leaped  up  within  him  —  a  longing  to  break  the 
harness,  to  jump  the  gate  and  go  heels  in  the  air,  cavort 
ing  across  unfenced  meadows.  He  rebelled  against  the 
way  that  had  been  marked  out  for  him.  He  rebelled 
against  the  self-imposed  discipline,  and,  most  of  all,  he 
rebelled  against  the  hundred  eyes  under  whose  inspection 
he  must  now  inevitably  walk. 

Ahead  of  them  to  the  left,  across  by  Osborne,  came 
the  gay,  defiant  singing  of  a  group  of  upper  classmen  re 
turning  to  the  campus : 

"  For  it's  always  fair  weather 
When  good  fellows  stand  together, 
With  a  stein  on  the  table 
And  a  good  song  ringing  clear." 


STOVERATYALE  95 

The  echo  came  to  him  with  a  certain  grim  mockery. 
There  would  be  very  little  of  that  for  him.  It  was  to 
be  four  years,  not  of  pleasure  and  inclination,  but  of 
seriousness  and  restraint,  if  he  continued  in  his  decision. 
For  a  moment  the  pagan  in  him  prevailed,  and  he 
doubted.  Then  they  passed  across  High  Street,  and  at 
their  sides  the  dead  shadow  of  the  society  tomb  suddenly 
intruded  upon  them.  Which  of  the  group  at  the  end  of 
the  long  three  years  would  be  of  the  chosen?  Which 
would  lead? 

"  Well,  fellows,  we  go  this  way,"  said  Bain's  meth 
odical  voice.  "  Drop  around  at  the  rooms  soon.  Good 
night." 

Stover,  Hunter,  and  Bain  for  the  moment  found  them 
selves  together,  each  striving  for  the  same  social  honor, 
each  conscious  that,  whatever  an  established  system 
might  bring  to  them,  with  its  enforced  comradeship, 
among  them  would  always  be  the  underlying  contending 
spirit  of  variant  ambitions. 

Stover  felt  it  keenly,  almost  with  a  sharp  antagonism 
that  drove  from  him  finally  the  slumbering  rebellion  he 
had  felt  all  that  night  —  the  tugging  at  the  bridle  of  con 
sciousness  which  had  been  imposed  upon  him.  This 
was  a  bigger  thing,  a  thing  that  wakened  in  him  the 
great  instincts  of  combat.  He  would  be  a  leader  among 
leaders.  He  would  succeed  as  success  was  reckoned. 

He  gave  a  little  laugh  and  held  out  his  hand  to 
Hunter. 

"  Good  night,  Jim,"  he  said. 

"  Why  —  good  night,"  said  Hunter,  surprised  at  the 
laugh  and  the  unnecessary  handshake. 

But  the  hand  had  been  offered  in  challenge,  and  the 
laugh  marked  the  final  deliberate  acceptance  of  all  that 
Le  Baron  had  logically  exposed  to  him. 


96  STOVERATYALE 

"  I'll  play  the  game,  and  I'll  play  it  better  than  they 
will,"  he  said,  setting  his  lips.  "  I've  got  my  eyes  open, 
and  I'm  not  going  to  throw  away  a  single  chance.  We'll 
see  who'll  lead!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  intensity  and  seriousness  of  the  football  season 
abetted  Stover  in  his  new  attitude  of  Napoleonic 
seclusion  by  leaving  him  little  time  for  the  lighter  side 
of  college  pleasures.  Every  hour  was  taken  up  with  the 
effort  of  mastering  his  lessons,  which  he  then  regarded, 
in  common  with  the  majority  of  his  class,  as  a  laborious 
task,  a  sort  of  necessary  evil,  the  price  to  be  paid  for 
the  privilege  of  passing  four  years  in  pleasant  places 
with  congenial  companions. 

After  supper  he  returned  immediately  to  his  rooms, 
where  presently  a  succession  of  visiting  sophomores, 
members  of  the  society  campaign  committees,  took  up 
the  first  hours.  These  inquisitorial  delegations,  formal, 
stiff,  and  conducted  on  a  basis  of  superior  investigation, 
embarrassed  him  at  first.  But  this  feeling  soon  wore  off 
with  the  consciousness  that  he  was  a  subject  of  dispute; 
and,  secure  in  the  opportunity  that  would  come  to  him 
with  the  opening  of  the  winter-term  period  of  elections, 
his  interest  was  directed  only  to  the  probable  selection 
among  his  classmates. 

By  the  middle  of  October  the  situation  at  Yale  field 
had  become  critical.  The  earlier  games  had  demon 
strated  what  had  been  foreseen  —  the  weakness  and  in 
experience  of  the  raw  material  in  hand.  Serious  errors 
in  policy  were  committed  by  Captain  Dana,  who,  in  the 
effort  to  find  some  combination  which  would  bolster  up 
the  weak  backfield,  began  a  constant  shifting  of  the  posi 
tions  in  order  to  experiment  with  heavier  men  behind 

97 


,98  STOVERATYALE 

the  line.  A  succession  of  minor  injuries  arrived  to  fur 
ther  the  disorganization.  The  nervousness  of  the  cap 
tain  communicated  itself  to  the  team,  harassed  and  driven 
in  the  effort  for  accomplishment.  That  there  was  seri 
ous  opposition  among  the  coaches  to  these  new  groping 
policies  every  man  saw  plainly;  yet,  to  Stover's  amaze 
ment,  the  knowledge  remained  within  the  team,  impreg 
nated  with  the  spirit  of  loyalty  and  discipline. 

After  three  weeks  of  brilliancy  at  his  natural  position 
of  end,  buoyed  up  by  the  zest  of  confidence  and  success, 
he  was  abruptly  called  to  one  side. 

"  Stover,  you've  played  behind  the  line,  haven't  you  ?  " 
said  Dana. 

"  A  couple  of  games  at  school,  sir,"  he  answered 
hastily,  "  just  as  a  makeshift." 

"  I'm  going  to  try  you  at  fullback." 

"At  fullback?" 

"  Get  into  it  and  see  if  you  can  make  good." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

He  went  without  spirit,  sure  of  the  impossibility  of  the 
thing,  feeling  only  the  humiliation  and  failure  that  all 
at  once  flung  itself  like  a  storm-cloud  across  his  ambi 
tion.  A  coach  took  charge  of  him,  running  over  with 
him  the  elementary  principles  of  blocking  and  plunging. 

When  he  lined  up,  it  was  with  half  of  the  coaching 
force  at  his  back. 

"  Come  on,  Stover ;  get  into  it ! " 

"  Wake  up !  " 

"  Get  your  head  down !  " 

"  Keep  a-going !  " 

"  Ram  into  it !  " 

"  Knock  that  man  over !  " 

"  Knock  him  over!  " 

He  went  into  the  line  blindly,  frantically,  feeling  for 


STOVERATYALE  99 

the  first  time  that  last  exhausting,  lunging  expenditure  of 
strength  that  is  called  forth  with  the  effort  to  fall  for 
ward  when  tackled.  Nothing  he  did  satisfied.  It  was  a 
constant  storm  of  criticism,  behind  his  back,  in  his  ears, 
shrieked  to  his  face: 

"  Keep  your  feet  —  oh,  keep  your  feet !  " 

"  Smash  open  that  line !  " 

"  Rip  open  that  line !  " 

"Hit  it  — hit  it!" 

"Hard  — harder!" 

"  Go  on  —  don't  stop !  " 

A  dozen  times  he  flung  his  meager  weight  against  the 
ponderous  bodies  of  the  center  men,  crushed  by  the  im 
pact  in  front,  smothered  by  the  surging  support  of  his 
own  line  behind,  helpless  in  the  grinding  contention, 
turned  and  twisted,  going  down  in  a  heap  amid  the  shock 
of  bodies,  thinking  always: 

"  Well,  the  darn  fools  will  find  out  just  about  how 
rmuch  use  I  am  here !  " 

When  the  practise  ended,  at  last,  Dana  called  on 
Tompkins. 

"  Joe,  take  Stover  and  give  him  a  line  on  the  punting, 
will  you  ?  " 

"  I  say,  he's  been  worked  pretty  hard,"  said  the  coach 
with  a  glance. 

"  How  about  it  ?  "  said  Dana  quickly. 

"  All  right,"  said  Stover,  lying  gloriously.  At  that 
moment,  aching  in  every  joint,  he  would  have  given  every 
thing  to  have  spoken  his  mind.  Instead  he  brought  forth 
a  smile  distinguished  for  its  eagerness,  and  said,  "  I'd 
like  to  get  right  at  it,  sir." 

"  Fullback's  the  big  problem,"  said  Tompkins,  as  they 
started  across  the  field.  "  Bangs  can  fill  in  at  end,  but 
we've  got  to  get  a  fullback  that  can  catch  punts,  and  with 


100  STOVERATYALE 

nerve  enough  to  get  off  his  kicks  in  the  face  of  that 
Princeton  line." 

"  I'll  do  my  best,  sir,"  said  Stover,  with  a  sinking 
feeling. 

For  twenty  minutes,  against  the  rebellion  of  his  body, 
he  went  through  a  rigorous  lesson,  improving  a  little  in 
the  length  of  his  punts,  and  succeeding  fairly  well  in 
holding  the  ball,  which  came  spinning  end  over  end  to 
him  from  the  region  of  the  clouds. 

"  That'll  do,"  said  Tompkins,  at  last. 

"  That's  all  ? "  said  Stover  stoically,  picking  up  his 
sweater. 

"  That's  all."  Tompkins,  watching  him  for  a  moment, 
said  suddenly :  "  Stover,  I  don't  know  whether  Dana'll 
keep  you  at  full  or  not,  but  I  guess  you'll  have  to  get 
ready  to  fill  in.  Come  over  to  the  gym  lot  every  morn 
ing  for  about  half  an  hour,  and  we'll  see  if  we  can't  work 
up  those  punts." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

They  walked  out  together. 

"  Stover,  look  here,"  said  Tompkins  abruptly,  "  I'm  go 
ing  to  speak  straight  to  you,  because  I  think  you'll  keep 
your  mouth  shut.  We're  in  a  desperate  condition  here, 
and  you  know  it.  There's  only  one  man  in  charge  at 
Yale,  now  and  always,  and  that's  the  captain.  That's 
our  system,  and  we  stand  or  fall  by  it ;  and  in  order  that 
we  can  follow  him  four  times  out  of  five  to  victory,  we've 
got  sometimes  to  shut  our  eyes  and  follow  him  down  to 
defeat.  Do  you  get  me?" 

"  I  think  I  do." 

"  No  matter  what  happens,  no  criticism  of  the  captain 
—  no  talking  outside.  You  may  think  he's  wrong,  you 
may  know  he's  wrong,  but  you've  got  to  grin  and  bear 
it.  That's  all.  Remember  it  —  a  close  mouth !  " 


STOVERATYALE  101 

But  it  required  all  Stover's  newly  learned  stoicism  to 
maintain  this  attitude  in  the  weeks  that  arrived.  After 
a  week  he  was  suddenly  returned  to  his  old  position,  and 
as  suddenly  redrafted  to  fullback  when  another  game 
had  displayed  the  inadequacy  of  the  regular.  From  a 
position  where  he  was  familiar  with  all  the  craft  of  the 
game,  Stover  suddenly  found  himself  a  novice  whom  a 
handful  of  coaches  sought  desperately  to  develop  by  dint 
of  hammering  and  driving.  His  name  no  longer  figured 
in  the  newspaper  accounts  as  the  find  of  the  season,  but 
as  Stover  the  weak  spot  on  the  eleven.  It  was  a  rude 
discipline,  and  more  than  once  he  was  on  the  point  of 
crying  out  at  what  seemed  to  him  the  useless  sacrifice. 
But  he  held  his  tongue  as  he  saw  others,  seniors,  put  to 
the  same  test  and  giving  obedience  without  a  word  of 
criticism  for  the  captain,  who,  as  every  one  realized,  face 
to  face  with  a  hopeless  outcome,  was  gradually  going  to 
pieces. 

Meanwhile  Dopey  McNab  was  just  as  zealously  con 
cerned  in  the  pursuit  of  his  classic  ideal,  which,  however, 
was  imagined  more  along  the  lines  of  such  historic 
scholars  as  Verdant  Green,  Harry  Foker,  and  certain 
heroes  of  his  favorite  author,  Charles  Lever. 

The  annoyance  of  recitations  by  an  economical  im 
agination  he  converted  into  periods  of  repose  and  re 
freshing  slumber  behind  the  broad  back  of  McMasters, 
who,  for  a  certain  fixed  portion  of  tobacco  a  week,  agreed 
to  act  as  a  wall  in  moments  of  calm  and  to  awake  him 
with  a  kick  on  the  shins  when  the  summons  to  refuse  to 
recite  arrived. 

Having  discovered  Buck  Waters  as  a  companionable 
soul,  congenially  inclined  to  the  pagan  view  of  life,  it  was 
not  long  before  the  two  discovered  the  third  completing 
genius  in  the  person  of  Tom  Kelly,  who,  though  a  mem- 


102  STOVERATYALE 

ber  of  the  Sheff  freshman  class,  immediately  agreed  not 
to  let  either  time,  place,  or  conflicting  recitations  stand 
in  the  way  of  that  superior  mental  education  which  must 
result  from  the  friction  of  three  such  active  imagina 
tions. 

The  triumvirate  was  established  on  a  firm  foundation 
on  the  day  after  Kelly's  ambitious  but  unsuccessful  at 
tempt  to  hit  the  moon  with  a  pool-ball,  and  immediately 
began  a  series  of  practical  jokes  and  larks  which  threat 
ened  to  terminate  abruptly  the  partnership  or  remove  it 
bodily  to  an  unimaginative  outer  world. 

McNab,  like  most  gentlemen  of  determined  leisure, 
worked  indefatigably  every  minute  of  the  day.  Having 
slept  through  chapel  and  first  recitation,  with  an  occa 
sional  interruption  to  rise  and  say  with  great  dignity, 
"  Not  prepared,"  he  would  suddenly,  about  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  awake  with  a  start,  and  drifting  into 
Stover's  room  plaster  his  nose  to  the  window  and  rest 
lessly  ask  himself  what  mischief  he  could  invent  for  the 
day. 

After  a  moment  of  dissatisfied  introspection,  he  would 
say  fretfully: 

"I  say,  Dink?" 

"  Hello ! " 

"Studying?" 

"  Yes." 

"Almost  finished?" 

"  No." 

"  What  are  you  doing,  McCarthy  ?  " 

"  Boning  out  an  infernal  problem  in  spherical  geo 
metry." 

"  I  gave  that  up." 

"Oh,  you  did!" 


STOVERATYALE  103 

"  Sure,  it's  too  hard  —  what's  the  use  of  wasting  time 
over  it,  then  ?  What  do  you  say  to  a  game  of  pool  ?  " 

"Get  out!" 

"  Let's  go  for  a  row  up  on  Lake  Whitney." 

"  Shut  up !  " 

"  Come  over  to  Sheffield  and  get  up  a  game  of  poker 
with  Tom  Kelly." 

At  this  juncture,  Stover  and  McCarthy  rising  in  wrath, 
McNab  would  beat  a  hurried  retreat,  dodging  whatever 
came  sailing  after  him.  Much  aggrieved,  he  would  go 
down  the  hall,  trying  the  different  doors,  which  had  been 
locked  against  his  approach. 

About  this  time  Buck  Waters,  moved  by  similar  im 
pulses,  would  appear  and  the  two  would  camp  down  on 
the  top  step  and  practise  duets,  until  a  furious  uprising 
in  the  house  would  drive  them  ignominiously  on  to  the 
street. 

Left  to  their  own  resources,  they  would  wander  aim 
lessly  about  the  city,  inventing  a  hundred  methods  to  ac 
complish  the  most  difficult  of  all  feats,  killing  time. 

On  one  particular  morning  in  early  November,  Mc 
Nab  and  Buck  Waters,  being  refused  admission  to  three 
houses  on  York  Street,  and  the  affront  being  aggravated 
by  jeers  and  epithets  of  the  coarsest  kind,  went  arm  in 
arm  on  mischief  bent. 

"  I  say,  what  let's  do  ?  "  said  McNab  disconsolately. 

"  We  must  do  something  new,"  said  Buck  Waters. 

"  We  certainly  must." 

"Well,  let's  try  the  old  clothes  gag,"  said  McNab; 
"  that  always  amuses  a  little." 

Reaching  the  thoroughfare  of  Chapel  Street,  McNab 
stationed  himself  at  the  corner  while  Waters  proceeded 
to  a  point  about  half-way  down  the  block. 


104  STOVERATYALE 

Assuming  a  lounging  position  against  a  lamp-post, 
McNab  waited  until  chance  delivered  up  to  him  a  super- 
humanly  dignified  citizen  in  top  hat  and  boutonniere, 
moving  through  the  crowd  with  an  air  of  solid  impor 
tance. 

Darting  out,  he  approached  with  the  sweep  of  an 
eagle,  saying  in  a  hoarse  whisper : 

"  Old  clothes,  any  old  clothes,  sir  ?  " 

His  victim,  frowning,  accelerated  his  pace. 

"  Buy  your  old  clothes,  sir,  buy  'em  now." 

Several  onlookers  stopped  and  looked.  The  gentle 
man,  who  had  not  turned  to  see  who  was  addressing  him, 
said  hurriedly  in  an  undertone: 

"  No,  no,  nothing  to-day." 

"  Buy  'em  to-morrow  —  pay  good  price,"  said  McNab 
peevishly. 

"  No,  no,  nothing  to  sell." 

"  Call  around  at  the  house  —  give  good  prices." 

"  Nothing  to  sell,  nothing,  I  tell  you ! " 

"  Buy  what  you  got  on,"  said  McNab  at  the  psychologi 
cal  moment,  "  give  you  five  dollars  or  toss  you  ten  or 
nothinks !  " 

"  Be  off !  "  said  the  now  thoroughly  infuriated  victim, 
turning  and  brandishing  his  cane.  "  I'll  have  you  ar 
rested." 

McNab,  having  accomplished  his  preliminary  role,  re 
treated  to  a  safe  distance,  exclaiming: 

"  Toss  you  ten  dollars  or  nothinks !  " 

The  now  supremely  self-conscious  and  furious  gentle 
man,  having  rid  himself  of  McNab,  immediately  found 
himself  in  the  hands  of  Buck  Waters,  who  pursued  him 
for  the  remainder  of  the  block,  with  a  mild  obsequious 
persistency  that  would  not  be  shaken  off.  By  this  time 
the  occupants  of  the  shop  windows  and  the  loiterers, 


STOVERATYALE  105 

perceiving  the  game,  were  in  roars  of  laughter,  which 
made  the  passage  of  the  second  and  third  victims  a  pro 
cession  of  hilarious  triumph  for  McNab  and  Waters. 

Tiring  of  this,  they  locked  arms  again  and,  taking  by 
hazard  a  side  street,  continued  their  quest  for  adventure. 

"  Mornings  are  a  dreadful  bore,"  said  McNab,  pulling 
down  his  hat. 

"  They  certainly  are." 

"  Who  was  the  old  duck  we  tackled  first?  " 

"  Don't  know  —  familiar  whiskers." 

"  Seemed  to  me  I've  seen  him  somewhere." 

"  Say,  look  at  the  ki-yi." 

"  It's  a  Shetland  poodle." 

"  It's  a  pen-wiper." 

Directly  in  front  of  them  a  shaggy  French  poodle, 
bearing  indeed  a  certain  resemblance  to  both  a  Shetland 
pony  and  a  discarded  pen-wiper,  was  gleefully  engaged 
in  the  process  of  shaking  to  pieces  a  rubber  which  it 
had  stolen. 

"  If  it  sees  itself  in  a  mirror  it  will  die  of  mortifica 
tion,"  said  Buck  Waters. 

"  And  yet,  Buck,  Ke's  happier  than  we  are,"  said  Mc 
Nab,  who  had  been  unjustifiably  forced  to  flunk  twice  in 
one  morning's  recitation. 

"  I  say,  Dopey,"  said  Waters  in  alarm,  "  quit  that !  " 

"  I  will." 

"  Look  at  the  fireworks/'  said  Waters,  stopping  sud 
denly  at  a  window,  "  pin-wheels,  rockets,  Roman  can 
dles." 

"  What  are  they  doing  there  this  time  of  the  year  ?  " 
said  McNab  angrily. 

"  Election  parade,  perhaps." 

"  That's  an  idea  to  work  on,  Buck." 

"  It  certainly  is." 


106  STOVERATYALE 

"  We  must  tell  Tom  Kelly  about  that." 

"  We  will." 

"  Why,  there's  that  ridiculous  ki-yi  again !  " 

"  He  seems  to  like  us." 

"  I'm  not  complimented." 

At  this  moment,  with  the  poodle  sporting  the  rubber 
about  fifteen  feet  ahead  of  them,  they  beheld  an  Italian 
barber  lolling  in  the  doorway  of  his  shop,  as  profoundly 
bored  by  himself  as  they  affected  to  be  in  conjunction. 

"  Fine  dog,"  said  the  barber  with  a  critical  glance. 

"  Sure,"  said  McNab,  halting  at  once. 

The  poodle,  for  whatever  reason,  likewise  halted  and 
looked  around. 

"  Looka  better,  cutta  da  hair." 

"  You're  right  there,  Columbus,"  assented  Buck 
Waters.  "  His  fur  coat  looks  as  though  it  came  from  a 
fire  sale." 

"  He  ought  to  be  trim  up  nice,  good  style." 

"  Right,  very,  very  right !  " 

"  Give  him  nice  collar,  nice  tuft  on  da  tail,  nice  tuft 
on  da  feet." 

"  Right  the  second  time !  " 

"  I  clip  him  up,  eh  ?  "  said  the  barber  hopefully. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  McNab,  looking  into  the  depth  of 
Buck  Waters's  eyes. 

"Why  not,  Beecher?"  said  Waters,  giving  him  the 
name  of  the  President  of  the  College  Y.  M.  C.  A. 

"  I  think  it  an  excellent  suggestion,  Jonathan  Ed 
wards,"  said  McNab  instantly. 

With  considerable  strategic  coaxing,  the  dog  was  en 
ticed  into  the  shop,  where  to  their  surprise  he  became 
immediately  docile. 

"  You  see  he  lika  da  clip,"  said  the  barber  enthusias 
tically,  preparing  a  table. 


STOVERATYALE  107 

"  He's  a  very  intelligent  dog,"  said  McNab. 

"  You've  done  much  of  this,  Columbus  ?  "  said  Waters 
with  a  business-like  air. 

"  Sure.     Ten,  twenta  dog  a  day,  down  in  da  city." 

"  Edwards,  we  shall  learn  something." 

The  dog  was  induced  to  come  on  the  table,  and  Waters 
delegated  to  hold  him  in  position. 

"  Something  pretty  slick  now,  Christopher,"  said  Mc 
Nab,  taking  the  attitude  a  connoisseur  should  take. 
"  Explain  the  fine  points  to  us,  as  you  go  along." 

"  Sure." 

"  I  like  the  way  he  handles  the  scissors,  Beecher  — 
strong,  powerful  stroke." 

"  He's  got  a  good  batting  eye,  too,  Edwards." 

"  My,  what  a  nice  clean  boulevard !  " 

"  Just  see  the  hair  fly." 

"  It'll  certainly  improve  the  tail." 

"  Clip  a  little  anchor  in  the  middle  of  the  back." 

"Did  you  see  that?" 

"  I  did." 

"  He's  a  wonder." 

"  He  is." 

"  Columbus,  a  little  more  off  here  —  oh,  just  a  trifle !  " 

"  First  rate ;  shave  up  the  nose  and  part  the  whiskers  !  " 

"  Look  at  the  legs,  with  the  dinky  pantalets  —  aren't 
they  dreams  ?  " 

"  I  love  the  tail  best." 

"  Why,  Columbus  is  an  artist.  Never  saw  any  one 
like  him." 

"  Would  you  know  the  dog?  " 

"  Why,  mother  wouldn't  know  him/'  said  McNab 
solemnly. 

"  All  in  forty-three  minutes,  too." 

"  It's  beautifully  done,  beautifully." 


108  STOVERATYALE 

"Exquisite!" 

The  barber,  perspiring  with  his  ambitious  efforts,  with 
drew  for  a  final  inspection,  clipped  a  little  on  the  top  and 
to  the  side,  and  signified  by  a  nod  that  art  could  go  no 
further. 

"Prettafine,  eh?" 

"  Mr.  Columbus,  permit  me,"  said  Waters,  shaking 
hands. 

McNab  gravely  followed  suit.  The  dog,  released,  gave 
a  howl  and  began  circling  madly  about  the  room. 

"  Open  the  door,"  shouted  McNab.  "  See  how  happy 
he  is!" 

The  three  stationed  themselves  thoughtfully  on  the 
doorstep,  watching  the  liberated  poodle  disappear  down 
the  street  in  frantic  spirals,  loops  and  figure-eights. 

"  He  lika  da  feel,"  said  the  barber,  pleased. 

"  Oh,  he's  much  improved,"  said  Waters,  edging  a 
little  away. 

"He  fine  lookin'  a  dog!" 

"  He'll  certainly  surprise  the  girls  and  mother,"  said 
McNab,  shifting  his  feet.  "  Well,  Garibaldi,  ta-ta  !  " 

"  Hold  up,"  said  the  barber,  "  one  plunk." 

"  One  dollar,  Raphael  ?  "  said  Buck  Waters  in  innocent 
surprise.  "  What  for,  oh,  what  for  ?  " 

"  One  plunk,  clippa  da  dog." 

"Yes,  but  Garibaldi,"  said  McNab  gently,  "that 
wasn't  our  dog." 

"  Shall  we  run  for  it  ? "  said  Waters,  as  they  went 
hurriedly  up  the  block. 

"  Wait  until  Garibaldi  gives  chase  —  we  must  be  digni 
fied,"  said  McNab,  with  an  eye  to  the  rear. 

"  Dagos  have  no  sense  of  humor.  Here  he  comes 
with  a  razor  —  scud  for  it !  " 

They  dashed  madly  for  the  corner,  doubled  a  couple 


STOVER    AT    YALE  109 

of  times,  joined  by  the  rejuvenated  friendly  poodle,  and 
suddenly,  wheeling  around  a  corner,  ran  straight  into  the 
dean,  who  as  fate  would  have  it,  was  accompanied  by  the 
very  dignified  citizen  who  had  been  the  first  victim  of 
their  old  clothes  act  and  upon  whom  the  frantic  poodle> 
with  canine  expressions  of  relief  and  delight,  immediately 
cast  himself. 

"  Buck,"  said  McNab,  half  an  hour  later,  as  they  went 
limply  back,  "  Napoleon  would  have  whipped  the  British 
to  an  omelet  at  Waterloo  if  he'd  known  about  that  sunken 
road." 

"  We  are  but  mortals." 

"  How  the  deuce  were  we  to  know  the  pup  belonged 
to  Professor  Borgle,  the  eminent  rootitologist  ?  " 

"  Well,  we  paid  the  dago,  didn't  we  ?  " 

"  That  was  outrageous." 

"  I  say,  Dopey,  what'll  you  do  if  they  fire  us?" 

"  Don't  joke  on  such  subjects." 

"  Dopey,"  said  Waters  solemnly,  "  while  the  dean  has 
the  case  under  consideration,  just  to  aid  his  deliberations, 
I  think  we  had  better  —  well,  study  a  little." 

"  I  suppose  we  must  flirt  with  the  text-books,"  said 
McNab,  "  but  let's  do  it  together,  so  no  one'll  suspect." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  last  week  of  the  football  season  broke  over 
them  before  Stover  could  realize  that  the  final  test 
was  almost  at  hand.  The  full  weight  of  the  responsibil 
ity  that  was  on  him  oppressed  him  day  and  night.  He 
forgot  what  he  had  been  at  end ;  he  remembered  only  his 
present  inadequacy.  It  had  been  definitely  decided  to 
keep  him  at  fullback,  for  three  things  were  imperative 
in  the  weak  backfield:  some  one  who  could  catch  punts, 
with  nerve  enough  to  get  off  his  kicks  quickly  in  the  face 
of  a  stronger  line,  and  above  all  some  one  on  the  last 
defense  who  would  never  miss  the  tackle  that  meant  a 
touchdown. 

In  the  last  week  a  great  change  took  place  in  the  senti 
ment  of  the  university  —  the  hoping  against  hope  that 
often  arrives  with  the  intensity  of  combat.  At  this  time 
Harvard  and  Yale  were  still  reluctantly  estranged,  due  to 
a  purely  hypothetical  question  as  to  which  side  had  begun 
a  certain  historic  slaughter,  and  the  big  game  of  the  sea 
son  was  with  Princeton,  which,  under  the  leadership  of 
Garry  Cockerell,  Dink's  first  captain  at  Lawrenceville, 
had  established  a  record  of  unusual  power  and  brilliancy. 

Up  to  Monday  of  the  last  week,  the  opinion  around  the 
campus  was  unanimous  that  the  day  of  defeat  had  ar 
rived  ;  but,  with  the  opening  of  the  week  and  the  flocking 
in  of  the  old  players,  a  new  spirit  was  noticeable,  and 
(among  the  freshmen)  a  tentative  loosening  of  the  purse- 
strings  on  news  of  extra-insulting  challenges  from  the 
South. 

110 


STOVER    AT    YALE  111 

At  the  practise,  the  season's  marked  division  among  the 
coaches  was  forgotten,  and  the  field  was  alive  with 
frantic  assistants.  The  scrimmage  between  the  varsity 
and  the  scrub  took  on  a  savageness  that  was  sometimes 
difficult  to  control.  The  team,  facing  the  impossible, 
with  eagerness  to  respond,  had  clearly  overworked 
itself.  Stover  himself  weighed  a  bare  one  hundred  and 
forty,  an  unspeakable  depravity  which  he  carefully  con 
cealed. 

Still,  the  team  began  to  feel  a  new  impulse  and  a  new 
unity,  inspired  by  the  confidence  of  the  returned  heroes. 
The  grim  silence  of  the  past  began  to  be  broken  by  hope 
ful  comments. 

"  By  George,  I  believe  there's  something  in  those 
boys." 

"  We've  come  up  smiling  before." 

"  We  may  do  it  again." 

"  Shouldn't  be  surprised  if  they  gave  those  Princeton 
Tigers  the  fight  of  their  lives." 

"  Oh,  they'll  fight  it  out  all  right." 

One  or  two  trick  plays  were  perpetrated  behind  closed 
gates,  and  a  thorough  drill  in  a  new  method  of  breaking 
up  the  Princeton  formation  for  a  kick,  under  the  instruc 
tion  of  returning  scouts.  The  team  itself  began  to  ques 
tion  and  wonder. 

"  That  fellow  Rivers  certainly  has  stiffened  us  up  in 
the  center  of  the  line,"  said  Regan,  between  plays,  in  one 
of  his  rare  moments  of  loquacity.  "  I've  learned  more 
in  three  days  than  in  the  whole  darn  season." 

"  You've  got  to  hold  for  my  kicks,"  said  Stover,  sub 
mitting  to  the  sponge  which  Clancy,  the  trainer,  was 
daubing  over  his  face. 

"  We'll  hold." 

"  What  do  you  really  think,  Tom  ?  "  said  Stover  as  they 


STOVER    AT    YALE 

stood  a  little  apart,  waiting  for  the  scrimmage  to  be  re 
sumed.  "  Do  you  think  there's  a  chance  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  thinking,"  said  Regan,  in  his  direct  way. 
"  Haven't  any  business  to  think.  But  we're  getting  to 
gether,  there's  no  doubt  of  that.  If  we  can't  win,  why, 
we'll  lose  as  we  ought  to,  and  that's  something." 

Others  were  not  so  unruffled  as  Regan.  The  last  days 
brought  out  all  the  divergent  ways  in  which  fierce,  com 
bative  natures  approach  a  crisis.  Dana,  the  captain,  was 
plainly  on  the  edge  of  his  self-control,  his  forehead 
drawn  in  a  constant  frown,  his  glance  shooting  nervously 
back  and  forth,  speaking  to  no  one  except  in  the  routine 
of  the  day.  Dudley,  at  the  other  half,  had  adopted  the 
same  attitude.  De  Soto  at  quarter,  on  the  contrary, 
radiated  a  fierce  joy,  joking  and  laughing,  his  nervous 
little  voice  piping  out : 

"  A  little  more  murder,  fellows !  Send  them  back  on 
stretchers.  That's  the  stuff.  What  the  deuce  is  the 
matter,  Bill,  do  you  want  to  live  forever?  Use  your 
hands,  use  your  feet,  use  your  teeth,  anything!  Whoop 
her  up!" 

Others  in  the  line  were  more  stolid,  yet  each  in  his 
way  contributing  to  the  nervous  electricity  that  sent  the 
team  tirelessly,  frantically,  like  mad  dervishes,  into  the 
breach,  while  behind  them,  at  their  sides,  everywhere, 
the  coaches  goaded  them  on. 

"Oh,  get  together!" 

"  Shove  the  man  in  front  of  you ! " 

"  Get  your  shoulder  into  it !  " 

"  Fight  for  that  last  inch  there !  " 

"Knock  him  off  his  feet!" 

"  Put  your  man  out  o'  the  play ! " 

"  Break  him  up !  " 

No   one   paid    any   attention   to    the    scrubs,   fighting 


STOVERATYALE  113 

desperately  with  the  same  loyalty  against  the  odds  of 
weight  and  organization,  without  hope  of  distinction, 
giving  every  last  ounce  of  their  strength  in  futile,  frantic 
effort,  rejoicing  when  flung  aside  and  crushed  under  the 
victorious  rush  of  the  varsity,  who  alone  counted. 

Against  the  scrubs  Stover  felt  a  sort  of  rage.  Time 
after  time  he  went  crashing  into  the  line,  seeing  the 
blurred  faces  of  his  own  comrades  with  an  instinctive 
hatred,  striking  them  with  his  shoulder,  hurling  them 
from  the  path  of  attack  with  a  wild,  uncontrollable  fury 
at  their  resistance,  almost  unable  to  keep  his  temper  in 
leash.  The  first  feeling  of  sympathy  he  had  felt  so 
acutely  for  those  who  bore  all  the  brunt  of  the  punish 
ment,  unrewarded,  was  gone.  He  no  longer  felt  any  pity, 
but  a  brutal  joy  at  the  incessant  smarting,  grinding  shock 
of  the  attack  of  which  he  was  part  and  the  touch  of 
prostrate  bodies  under  his  rushing  feet. 

Thursday  and  Friday  the  practise  was  lightened  for 
all  except  for  the  backs.  For  an  hour  he  was  kept  at 
his  punting  in  the  open  and  behind  the  lines,  while  the 
scrubs,  reenforced  by  every  available  veteran,  swarmed 
through  the  line,  seeking  to  block  his  kicks. 

To  one  side  a  little  knot  of  coaches  watched  the  re 
sult  with  critical  anxiety,  following  the  length  of  the 
punts  in  grim  silence. 

Tompkins,  behind  him,  from  time  to  time,  spoke 
quietly,  knowing  that  his  was  a  nature  to  be  restrained 
rather  than  goaded  on. 

"  Watch  your  opposing  backs,  Stover.  Keep  your 
punts  low  and  away  from  them  so  as  to  gain  as  much 
on  the  ground  as  you  can.  That's  it !  Here,  you  center 
men,  you've  got  to  hold  longer  than  that !  You're  hurry 
ing  the  kick  too  much.  Get  it  off  clean,  Stover.  Not 
so  good.  Remember  what  I  say  about  placing  your 


STOVERATYALE 

punt.  You're  going  to  be  out-kicked  fifteen  yards ;  make 
up  for  it  in  brain  work.  All  right,  Dana  ?  " 

"  That'll  do,"  said  Dana,  after  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"All  over?"  said  Dink,  dazed. 

"All  over!" 

The  scrubs,  with  a  yell,  broke  up,  cheering  the  varsity, 
and  being  cheered  in  turn.  Stover,  with  a  sinking,  real 
ized  that  the  week  of  preparation  had  gone  and  that  as 
he  was  he  must  come  up  to  the  final  test  —  the  final  test 
before  the  thousands  that  would  blacken  the  arena  on  the 
morrow. 

The  squad  went  rather  silently,  each  oppressed  by  the 
same  thought. 

"  We'll  go  out  to  the  country  club  for  the  night,"  said 
Tompkins's  shrill  voice.  "  Get  your  valises  ready.  And 
now  stop  talking  football  until  we  tell  you.  Go  out  on 
the  trot  now !  " 

From  the  gymnasium  he  went  back  to  the  house.  As 
he  came  up  the  hall  he  heard  a  hum  of  voices  from  his 
room. 

"  Dink's  got  the  nerve,  but  what  the  deuce  can  he  do 
against  that  Princeton  line  ?  Do  you  know  how  much  he 
weighs?  One  hundred  and  fifty." 

Stover  listened,  smiled  grimly.  If  they  only  knew  his 
real  weight! 

"  Do  you  think  he'll  last  it  through  ?  " 

"What,  Dink?"  said  McCarthy's  loyal  voice.  "  You 
bet  he'll  last!" 

"  Blamed  shame  he  isn't  at  end !  " 

"By  ginger!  he'd  make  the  All-American  if  he  was." 

"  Yes,  and  now  every  one  will  jump  on  him  for  being 
a  rotten  fullback." 

"  Dana  be  hanged !  " 

Stover  went  back  to  the  stairs  and  returned  noisily 


STOVERATYALE  115 

At  his  entrance  the  crowd  sprang  up  instinctively.  He 
felt  the  sudden  focus  of  anxious,  critical  glances. 

"  Hello,  fellows,"  he  said  gruffly.  "  Tough,  help  me  to 
stow  a  few  duds  in  my  valise." 

"Sure  I  will!" 

Two  or  three  hurried  to  help  McCarthy,  in  grotesque, 
unconsciously  humorous  eagerness ;  others  patted  him  on 
the  back  with  exaggerated  good  spirits. 

"  Dink,  you  look  fine !  " 

"  All  to  the  good." 

"  Right  on  edge." 

"  Dink,  we're  all  rooting  for  you." 

"  Every  one  of  us." 

"  You'll  tear  'em  up." 

"  We're  betting  on  you,  old  gazebo !  " 

"  Thanks !  " 

He  took  the  bag  which  McCarthy  thrust  upon  him. 
Each  solemnly  shook  his  hand,  thrilling  at  the  touch,  and 
Hungerford  said : 

"  \Yhatever  happens,  old  boy,  we're  going  to  be  proud 
of  you." 

Stover  stopped  a  moment,  curiously  moved,  and  obey 
ing  an  instinct,  said  brusquely: 

"  Yes,  I'll  take  care  of  that." 

Then  he  went  hurriedly  out. 

That  night,  after  supper  —  a  meal  full  of  nervous 
laughter  and  assumed  spirits  —  two  or  three  of  the  older 
coaches  came  in,  and  their  spirit  of  hopefulness  some 
how  communicated  itself  to  the  team.  Other  Yale 
elevens  had  risen  at  the  last  moment  and  snatched  a  vic 
tory —  why  not  theirs?  It  lay  with  them,  and  during 
the  week  they  certainly  had  forged  ahead.  Dink  felt  the 
infection  and  became  almost  convinced.  Then  Tompkins, 
moving  around  as  the  spirit  of  confidence,  signaled  him. 


116  STOVER   AT    YALE 

"  Come  out  here ;  I  want  a  little  pow-wow  with 
you." 

They  left  the  others  and  went  out  on  the  dim  lawns 
with  the  lighted  club-house  at  their  backs,  and  Tompkins, 
drawing  his  arm  through  Stover's,  began  to  speak : 

"  Dink,  we're  in  for  a  licking." 

"  Oh,  I  say ! "  said  Stover,  overwhelmed.  "  But  we 
have  come  on;  we've  come  fast." 

"  Stover,  that's  a  great  Princeton  team,"  said  Tompkins 
quietly,  "  and  we're  a  weak  Yale  one.  We're  going  to 
get  well  licked.  Now,  boy,  I'm  telling  you  this  because 
I  think  you're  the  stuff  to  stand  it;  because  you'll  play 
better  for  knowing  what's  up  to  you." 

"  I  see." 

"  It's  going  to  depend  a  whole  lot  on  you  —  how  you 
hold  up  your  end  —  how  badly  we're  licked." 

"  I  know  I'm  the  weak  spot,"  said  Stover,  biting  his 
lips. 

"  You're  a  darn  good  player,"  said  Tompkins,  "  and 
you're  going  to  leave  a  great  name  for  yourself ;  but  this 
year  you've  had  to  be  sacrificed.  You've  been  put  where 
you  are  because  you've  got  nerve  and  a  head.  Now  this 
is  what  I  want  from  you.  Know  what  you're  up  against 
and  make  your  brain  control  that  nerve  —  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  You've  got  to  do  the  kicking  in  the  second  half  as 
well  as  in  the  first.  You've  got  to  keep  your  strength  and 
not  break  it  against  a  wall.  You  won't  be  called  on  for 
much  rushing  in  the  first  half ;  you'll  get  a  chance  later. 
The  line  may  go  to  pieces,  the  secondary  defense  may  go 
to  pieces;  but,  boy,  if  you  go  to  pieces,  we'll  be  beaten 
thirty  to  nothing." 

"As  bad  as  that!" 

"  Every  bit." 


STOVER    AT    YALE  117 

"  That's  awful  —  a  Yale  team."  He  drew  a  long 
breath  and  then  said :  "  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  get  off  every  punt  without  having  it 
blocked;  and  that's  a  good  deal,  with  what  you're  up 
against." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  hold  on  to  every  punt  that  comes  to  you  —  no 
fumbling." 

"  No  fumbling  —  yes,  sir." 

"  And  kick  as  you've  never  kicked  before  —  every  kick 
better  as  you  go  on.  Put  your  whole  soul  into  it." 

"  I  will." 

"  You  won't  miss  a  tackle  —  I  know  that ;  but  you'll 
have  some  pretty  rum  ones  to  make,  and  when  you  tackle, 
make  them  remember  it." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  But,  Stover,  above  all,  hold  steadfast.  Keep  cool  and 
remember  the  game's  a  long  one.  Boy,  you  don't  know 
what  it'll  mean  for  some  of  us  old  fellows  to  see  Yale 
go  down,  but  out  of  it  all  we  want  to  remember  something 
that'll  make  us  proud  of  you."  He  stopped,  controlled 
the  emotion  that  was  in  his  voice,  and  said  a  little  anx 
iously  :  "  I  tell  you  this  because  a  first  game  is  a  terrible 
thing,  and  I  didn't  want  you  to  be  caught  in  a  panic  when 
you  found  what  you  were  up  against.  And  I  tell  you, 
Stover,  because  you're  the  sort  of  fighting  stuff  that'll 
fight  harder  when  you  know  all  there  is  to  it  is  the  fight 
ing.  Am  I  right?" 

"  I  hope  so,  sir." 

"  And  now,  do  a  more  difficult  thing.  Get  right  hold 
of  yourself.  Put  everything  out  of  your  mind ;  go  to  bed 
and  sleep." 

This  last  injunction,  though  he  tried  his  best  to  obey  it, 
was  beyond  Stover's  power.  He  passed  the  night  in  fitful 


118  STOVERATYALE 

flashes  of  sleep.  At  times  he  awoke,  full  of  a  fever  of 
eagerness  from  a  dream  of  success.  Then  he  would  lie 
staring,  it  seemed  for  hours,  at  the  thin  path  across  the 
ceiling  made  by  a  street  lamp,  feeling  all  at  once  a  weak 
ness  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach,  a  physical  horror  of  what 
the  day  would  bring  forth.  The  words  of  the  coach 
framed  themselves  in  a  sort  of  rhythmic  chant  which  went 
endlessly  knocking  through  his  brain: 

"  Catch  every  punt  —  get  off  every  kick  —  make  every 
tackle." 

In  the  morning  it  was  the  same  refrain,  which  never 
left  him.  He  rose  tired,  with  a  limpness  in  every  muscle, 
his  head  heavy  as  if  bound  across  with  biting  bonds.  He 
stood  stupidly  holding  his  wash-pitcher,  looking  out  of 
the  window,  saying: 

"  Good  heavens !  it's  only  a  few  hours  off  now." 

Then  he  began  feebly  to  wash,  repeating: 

"Get  off  every  kick  —  every  kick." 

Breakfast  passed  like  a  nightmare.  He  put  something 
tasteless  into  his  mouth,  his  jaws  moved,  but  that  was  all. 
The  brisk  walk  to  chapel  restored  him  somewhat,  and 
the  consciousness  of  holding  himself  before  the  gaze  of 
the  crowd.  After  first  recitation,  Regan  joined  him,  and 
together  they  went  across  the  campus,  no  longer  the 
campus  of  the  University,  but  beginning  to  swarm  with 
strangers,  and  strange  colors  amid  the  blue. 

"  How  are  you  feeling?  "  said  Regan  in  a  fatherly  sort 
of  way,  as  they  went  through  Phelps  and  out  on  to  the 
Common. 

"  Tom,  my  shoes  stick  to  the  ground,  my  knees  are 
made  of  paper,  and  I'm  hollow  from  one  end  to  the 
other." 

"  Fine ! " 

"Oh,  wit?" 


STOVER    AT    YALE  119 

"  You'll  be  a  bundle  of  fire  on  the  field." 

"  Let's  not  walk  too  far.  We  want  to  keep  fresh/' 
said  Stover,  feeling  indeed  as  though  every  step  was 
draining  his  energy. 

"  Rats !  let's  saunter  down  Chapel  Street  and  see  the 
crowds  come  in." 

"  You  old  rhinoceros,  have  you  any  nerves  ?  " 

"  Lots,  but  they're  a  different  sort.  By  George,  isn't 
it  a  wonderful  sight  ?  " 

Side  by  side  with  Regan,  a  certain  shame  steadied 
Stover.  They  went  silently  through  the  surging,  ar 
riving  multitude,  all  intoxicated  with  the  joy  and  zest  of 
the  great  game.  In  and  out,  newsboys  howling  papers 
with  headlines  and  pictures  of  the  team  thrust  their 
wares  before  their  eyes,  while  a  pestiferous  swarm  of 
strange  pedlers  shrieked: 

"  Get  your  colors  here !  " 

"  Get  your  winnin'  color." 

Suddenly  Stover  saw  a  headline  —  his  name  and  the 
caption : 

STOVER  THE  WEAK  SPOT 

"Let's  get  a  paper,"  he  said,  nervously  drawn  to  it. 

"  No  you  don't,"  said  Regan,  who  had  seen  it.  "  Come 
on,  now,  get  out  of  here,  some  one  might  walk  on  your 
foot  or  stick  a  hatpin  in  your  eye." 

"What  time  is  it?"  " 

"  Time  to  be  getting  back." 

"  Tom,  do  you  know  how  much  I  weigh  ?  "  said  Stover 
irrelevantly. 

"What  the  deuce?" 

"  I  weigh  one  hundred  and  forty-one  pounds,"  said 
Stover  solemnly,  as  though  imparting  a  State  secret. 

"  Go  on,  be  loony  if  you  want,"  said  Regan.     "  I've  seen 


120  STOVER   AT    YALE 

bruisers  before  a  fight  act  like  high  school  girls.  If  you've 
got  something  on  your  mind,  why  talk  it  out,  it'll  do  you 
good." 

"It's  awful  — it's  awful,"  said  Stover,  shaking  his 
head. 

"What's  awful?" 

"  It's  awful  to  think  I'm  the  weak  spot,  that  if  they 
only  had  a  decent  fullback  there  would  be  a  chance. 
I've  no  right  there  —  every  one  knows  it,  and  every  one's 
groaning  about  it." 

"  Go  on." 

"  That's  all,"  said  Stover,  a  little  angry. 

"  Well,  then  come  on,  I'm  getting  hungry." 

"Hungry!  Tom,  I'd  like  to  knock  the  spots  out  of 
you,"  said  Dink,  laughing  despite  himself. 

"  Dink,  old  bantam,"  said  Regan,  resting  his  huge  paw 
on  Stover's  shoulder  in  rough  affection,  "you're  all 
right.  I  say  so  and  I  know  it.  Now  shut  up  and  come 


CHAPTER  X 

ALMOST  before  he  knew  it  Stover  was  in  the  car 
and  the  wheels  were  moving  at  last  irresistibly 
toward  the  field.  There  was  no  longer  any  pretense  in 
those  last  awful  moments  that  had  in  them  all  the  concen 
trated  hopes  and  fears  of  the  weeks  that  had  rushed  away. 
The  faces  of  his  own  team-mates  were  only  gray  faces 
without  identity.  He  saw  some  one's  lips  moving  inces 
santly,  but  he  did  not  remember  whose  they  were.  Op 
posite  him,  another  man  was  bending  over,  his  head  hidden 
in  his  hands.  Some  one  else  at  his  side  was  nervously 
locking  and  unlocking  his  fingers,  breathing  short,  hard 
breaths.  He  remembered  only  the  stillness  of  it  all,  the 
forgetfulness  of  others,  the  set  stares,  and  Charlie  de 
Soto  fidgeting  on  the  seat  and  nervously  humming  some 
thing  irrelevant. 

Caught  up  in  this  unreasoning  intensity  of  a  young 
nation,  filled,  too,  with  this  exaggerated  passion  of  com 
bat,  Stover  leaned  back  limply.  Outside,  the  street  was 
choked  with  hilarious  parties  packed  in  rushing  carriages, 
blue  or  orange-and-black.  Horns  and  rattles  sounded 
like  tiny  sounds  in  his  ears,  and  his  eyes  saw  only  gro 
tesque  blurred  shapes  that  swept  across  them. 

"  I'll  get  'em  off  —  they  won't  block  any  on  me  —  they 
mustn't,"  he  said  to  himself,  closing  his  eyes. 

Then,  on  top  of  the  draining  weakness  that  had  him 
in  its  grip,  came  a  sudden  feeling  of  nausea,  and  he  knew 
suddenly  what  the  man  opposite  him  with  his  head  in  his 
hands  was  fighting.  He  put  his  arms  over  the  ledge  of 


STOVERATYALE 

the  door,  and  rested  His  head  on  them,  too  weak  to  care 
that  every  one  saw  him,  gulping  in  the  stinging  air  in 
desperation. 

All  at  once  there  came  a  grinding  jerk  and  the  car 
stopped.  From  the  inside  came  Tompkins'  angry,  rasp 
ing  voice: 

"  Every  one  up !  Get  out  there !  Quick !  On  the 
jump! " 

Instinctively  obedient,  the  vertigo  left  him,  his  mind 
cleared.  He  was  out  in  the  midst  of  the  bobbing  mass 
of  blue  sweaters,  moving  as  in  a  nightmare  through  the 
black  spectators,  seeing  ahead  the  mammoth  stands,  hear 
ing  the  dull,  engulfing  roars  as  one  hears  at  night  the 
approaching  surf. 

Then  they  were  struggling  through  the  human  barriers, 
and  he  saw  something  green  at  the  bottom  of  a  stormy 
pit,  and  a  great  growing  roar  of  welcome  smote  him  as 
of  a  descending  gale,  the  hysterical  cry  of  the  American 
multitude,  a  roar  acclaiming  Yale. 

"  All  ready !  "  said  Dana's  unrecognizable  voice  some 
where  ahead.  "  On  the  trot,  now !  " 

Instantly  he  was  sweeping  on  to  the  field  and  up 
along  the  frantic  stands  of  suddenly  released  blue.  All 
indecision,  all  weakness,  went  with  the  first  hoarse  cry 
from  his  own.  Something  hot  and  alive  seemed  to  flow 
back  into  his  veins,  and  with  every  stride  the  spongy  turf 
underneath  seemed  to  send  its  strength  and  vitality  into 
his  legs. 

From  the  other  end  of  the  field,  through  the  somber 
crowd,  an  orange-and-black  group  was  trickling,  flowing 
into  a  band  and  sweeping  out  on  the  field,  while  the 
Princeton  stands  were  surging  to  their  feet,  adding  the 
mounting  fury  of  their  welcome  to  the  deafening  uproar 


STOVERATYALE  123 

that  suddenly  bound  the  arena  in  the  gripping  hollow  of 
a  whirlwind. 

"  Line  up,  you  blue  devils,"  came  Charlie  de  Soto's 
raucous  cry.  "  On  your  toes.  Get  your  teeth  into  it. 
Hard,  now.  Ha-a-ard !  " 

He  was  in  action  immediately,  thinking  only  of  the 
signals,  sweeping  down  the  field,  now  to  the  right,  now  to 
the  left,  stumbling  in  his  eagerness. 

"  Enough,"  said  the  captain's  voice,  at  last.  "  Get 
under  your  sweaters,  fellows.  Brown  and  Stover,  start 
up  some  punts." 

Dana  and  Dudley  went  back  to  practise  catching. 
Brown,  the  center,  pigskin  under  hand,  set  himself  for 
the  pass,  while  Stover,  blowing  on  his  hands,  measured 
his  distance.  Opposite,  Bannerman,  the  Princeton  full 
back,  was  setting  himself  for  a  similar  attempt. 

In  the  stands  was  a  sudden  craning  hush  as  the  great 
audience  waited  to  see  with  its  own  eyes  the  disparity 
between  the  rival  fullbacks. 

Stover,  standing  out,  felt  it  all  instinctively,  with  a  little 
nervous  tremor  —  the  quick  stir  in  the  stands,  the  mut 
tered  comments,  the  tense  turning  of  even  the  cheer 
leaders. 

Then  the  ball  came  shooting  back  to  him.  He  caught 
it,  turned  it  in  his  hands,  and  drove  forward  his  leg  with 
all  his  might  At  the  same  moment,  as  if  maliciously 
calculated,  the  great  booming  punt  of  Bannerman  brought 
the  Princeton  stands,  rollicking  and  gleeful,  to  their  feet 
in  a  burst  of  triumph. 

In  his  own  stands  there  was  no  answering  shout. 
Stover  felt  on  his  cheeks,  under  his  eyes,  two  hot  spots 
of  anger.  What  did  they  know,  who  condemned  him,  of 
the  sacrifice  he  had  made,  of  the  far  more  difficult  thing 


STOVER   AT   YALE 

he  was  doing?  He  remembered  Tompkins'  advice;  he 
could  not  compete  with  Bannerman  in  the  air.  Delib 
erately  he  sent  his  next  punt  low,  swift,  striking  the 
ground  about  thirty  yards  away  and  rolling  treacherously 
another  fifteen  feet  before  Dudley,  who  had  swerved  out, 
could  stop  it.  This  time  from  the  mass  almost  a  groan 
went  up. 

A  sudden  cold  contempt  for  them,  for  everything,  seized 
possession  of  Stover.  He  hated  them  all.  He  stooped, 
plucked  a  blade  of  grass,  and  stuck  it  defiantly  between 
his  teeth. 

"  Shoot  that  back  a  little  lower,  Brown,"  he  said  with 
a  sudden  quick  authority,  and  again  and  again  he  sent 
off  his  fast,  low-rolling  punts. 

"  That's  the  stuff,  Dink,"  said  Tompkins,  with  a  pat  on 
the  shoulder,  "  but  you've  got  to  get  'em  off  on  the  instant 
—  remember  that.  Here,  throw  this  sweater  over  you." 

"  All  right." 

He  did  not  sit  down,  but  walked  back  and  forth  with 
short  steps,  waiting  for  the  interminable  conference  of 
the  captains  to  be  over.  And  again  that  same  sinking, 
hollow  feeling  came  over  him  in  the  suspense  before  the 
question  that  would  be  answered  in  the  first  shock  of 
bodies. 

The  feeling  he  felt  ran  through  the  thousands  gathered 
only  to  a  spectacle.  The  cheers  grew  faint,  lacking  vital 
ity,  and  the  stir  of  feet  was  a  nerve-racked  stir.  Dink 
gazed  up  at  the  high  benches,  trying  to  forget  the  interval 
of  seconds  that  must  be  endured.  It  did  not  seem  pos 
sible  that  he  was  to  go  out  before  them  all.  It  seemed 
rather  that  in  a  far-off  consciousness  he  was  the  same 
loyal  little  shaver  who  had  squirmed  so  often  on  the  top 
line  of  the  benches,  clinging  to  his  knees,  biting  his  lips, 
and  looking  weakly  on  the  ground. 


STOVERATYALE  125 

"  All  ready  —  get  out,  boys !  " 

Dana  came  running  back.  Yale  had  won  the  toss  and 
had  chosen  to  kick  off. 

Some  one  pulled  his  sweater  from  him,  struck  him  a 
stinging  slap  between  the  shoulders,  and  propelled  him 
on  the  field. 

"Yale  this  way!" 

They  formed  in  a  circle,  heads  down,  arms  locked  over 
one  another's  shoulders,  disputing  the  same  air;  and 
Dana,  the  captain,  who  believed  in  a  victory,  spoke : 

"  Now,  fellows,  one  word.  It's  up  to  us.  Do  you  un 
derstand  what  that  means  ?  It's  up  to  us  to  win,  the  way 
Yale  has  won  in  the  past  —  and  win  we're  going  to,  no 
matter  how  long  it  takes  or  what's  against  us.  Now,  get 
mad,  every  one  of  you.  Run  'em  right  off  their  feet. 
That's  all." 

The  shoulders  under  Stover's  left  him.  He  went  hazily 
to  the  place,  a  little  behind  the  rest,  where  he  knew  he 
should  go,  waiting  while  Brown  poised  the  football,  wait 
ing  while  the  orange-and-black  jerseys  indistinctly  scat 
tered  before  him  to  their  formation,  waiting  for  the 
whistle  for  which  he  had  waited  all  his  life  to  release  him. 

And  for  a  third  time  his  legs  seemed  to  crumble,  and  the 
whole  blurred  scheme  of  stands  and  field  to  reel  away 
from  him,  and  his  heart  to  be  lying  before  him  on  the 
ground  where  he  could  lean  over  and  pick  it  up. 

Then  like  a  pistol  shot  the  whistle  went  throbbing 
through  his  brain.  He  sprang  forward  as  if  out  of  the 
shell  of  himself,  keen,  alert,  filled  with  a  savage  longing. 

Down  the  field  a  Princeton  halfback  had  caught  the  ball 
and  was  squirming  back.  Then  a  sudden  upheaval,  and 
a  mass  was  spread  on  the  ground. 

"  Guess  he  gained  about  fifteen  on  that,"  he  said  to  him 
self.  "  They'll  kick  right  off." 


126  STOVER   AT    YALE 

Dana  came  running  back  to  support  him.  Out  of  the 
sky  like  a  monstrous  bird  something  round,  yellow,  and 
squirming  came  floating  toward  him.  He  was  forced  to 
run  back,  misjudged  it  a  little,  reached  out,  half  fumbled 
it,  and  recovered  it  with  a  plunging  dive  just  as  Cockerell 
landed  upon  him. 

"  Get  you  next  time,  Dink,"  said  the  voice  of  his  old 
school  captain  in  his  ear. 

Stover,  struggling  to  his  feet,  looked  him  coolly  in  the 
eye. 

"  No,  you  won't,  Garry,  and  you  know  it.  The  next 
time  I'm  going  back  ten  yards." 

"  Well,  boy,  we'll  see." 

They  shook  hands  with  a  grim  smile,  while  the  field 
straggled  up.  He  was  lined  up,  flanked  by  Dana  and 
Dudley,  bending  over,  waiting  for  the  signal.  Three 
times  De  Soto,  trying  out  the  Princeton  line,  sent  Dana 
plunging  against  the  right  tackle,  barely  gaining  the  dis 
tance.  A  fourth  attempt  being  stopped  for  a  loss,  Stover 
dropped  back  for  a  kick  on  the  second  down. 

The  ball  came  a  little  low,  and  with  it  the  whole  line 
seemed  torn  asunder  and  the  field  filled  with  the  rush  of 
converging  bodies.  To  have  kicked  would  have  been 
fatal.  He  dropped  quickly  on  the  ball,  covering  it,  under 
the  shock  of  his  opponents. 

Again  he  was  back,  waiting  for  the  trial  that  was  com 
ing.  He  forgot  that  he  was  a  freshman  —  forgot  every 
thing  but  his  own  utter  responsibility. 

"  You  center  men,  hold  that  line !  "  he  cried.  "  You 
give  me  a  chance !  Give  me  time !  " 

Then  the  ball  was  in  his  hands,  and,  still  a  little  hurried, 
he  sent  it  too  high  over  the  frantic  leaping  rush,  hurled 
to  the  ground  the  instant  after. 

The  exchange  had  netted  Princeton  twenty  yards.     A 


STOVERATYALE  127 

second  time  Bannerman  lifted  his  punt,  high,  long,  twist 
ing  and  turning  over  itself  in  tricky  spirals.  It  was  a 
perfect  kick,  giving  the  ends  exact  time  to  cover  it. 

Stover,  with  arms  outstretched,  straining  upward,  cool 
as  a  Yankee,  knew,  from  the  rushing  bodies  he  did  not 
dare  to  look  at,  what  was  coming.  The  ball  landed  in  his 
convulsive  arms,  and  almost  exactly  with  it  Garry  Cock- 
erell's  body  shot  into  him  and  tumbled  him  clear  off  the 
ground,  crashing  down;  but  the  ball  was  locked  in  his 
arms  in  one  of  those  catches  of  which  the  marvel  of  the 
game  is,  not  that  they  are  not  made  oftener,  but  that  they 
are  made  at  all. 

"  Come  on  now,  Yale,"  shouted  Charlie  De  Soto's  in 
flaming  voice.  "  We've  got  to  rip  this  line.  Signal !  " 

Two  masses  on  center,  two  futile  straining,  crushing 
attempts,  and  again  he  was  called  on  to  kick.  The  tackles 
he  had  received  had  steadied  him,  driving  from  his  too 
imaginative  mind  all  consideration  but  the  direct  present 
need. 

He  began  to  enjoy  with  a  fierce  delight  this  kicking  in 
the  very  teeth  of  the  frantic  Princeton  rushes,  as  he  had 
stood  on  the  beach  waiting  for  great  breakers  to  form 
above  his  head  before  diving  through. 

On  the  fourth  exchange  of  kicks  he  stood  on  his  own 
goal-line.  The  test  had  come  at  last.  Dana,  furious  at 
being  driven  back  without  a  Princeton  rush,  came  to  him 
wildly. 

"  Dink,  you've  got  to  make  it  good !  " 

"  Take  that  long-legged  Princeton  tackle  when  he  comes 
through,"  he  said  quietly.  "  Don't  worry  about  me." 

Luckily,  they  were  over  to  the  left  side  of  the  field. 
He  chose  his  opening,  and,  kicking  low,  as  Tompkins  had 
coached  him,  had  the  joy  of  seeing  the  ball  go  flying  over 
the  ground  and  out  of  bounds  at  the  forty-yard  line. 


128  STOVERATYALE 

The  Princeton  team,  springing  into  position,  at  last 
opened  its  attack. 

"  Now  we'll  see,"  said  Stover,  chafing  in  the  backfield. 

Using  apparently  but  one  formation,  a  circular  mass, 
which,  when  directly  checked,  began  to  revolve  out  toward 
end,  always  pushing  ahead,  always  concealing  the  runner, 
the  Princeton  attack  surely,  deliberately,  and  confidently 
rolled  down  the  field  like  a  juggernaut. 

From  the  forty-yard  line  to  the  thirty  it  came  in  two 
rushes,  from  the  thirty  to  the  twenty  in  three ;  and  then 
suddenly  some  one  was  tricked,  drawn  in  from  the  vital 
attack,  and  the  runner,  guarded  by  one  interferer,  swept 
past  the  unprotected  end  and  set  out  for  a  touchdown. 

Stover  went  forward  to  meet  them  like  a  shot,  frantic 
to  save  the  precious  yards.  How  he  did  it  he  never  quite 
knew,  but  somehow  he  managed  to  fling  himself  just  in 
front  of  the  interferer  and  go  down  with  a  death  grip 
on  one  leg  of  the  runner. 

A  cold  sponge  was  being  spattered  over  him,  he  was  on 
his  back  fighting  hard  for  his  breath,  when  he  again  real 
ized  where  he  was.  He  tried  to  rise,  remembering  all  at 
once. 

"Did  I  stop  him?" 

"  You  bet  you  did." 

Regan  and  Dudley  had  their  arms  about  him,  lifting 
him  and  walking  him  up  and  down. 

"  Get  your  breath  back,  old  boy." 

"  I'm  all  right." 

"  Take  your  time ;  that  Princeton  duck  hasn't  come  to 
yet!" 

He  perceived  in  the  opposite  group  something  prone 
on  the  ground,  and  the  sight  was  like  a  tonic. 

The  ball  lay  inside  the  ten-yard  line,  within  the  sacred 
zone.  In  a  moment,  no  longer  eliminated,  but  close  to 


STOVER   AT   YALE  129 

the  breathing  mass,  he  was  at  the  back  of  his  own  men, 
shrieking  and  imploring: 

"Get  the  jump,  Yale!" 

"  Throw  them  back,  Yale!  " 

"Fight  'em  back!" 

"  You've  got  to,  Yale  —  you've  got  to !  " 

Then,  again  and  again,  the  same  perfected  grinding 
surge  of  the  complete  machine:  three  yards,  two  yards, 
two  yards,  and  he  was  underneath  the  last  mass,  desper 
ately  blocking  off  some  one  who  held  the  vital  ball,  hoping 
against  hope,  blind  with  the  struggle,  saying  to  himself: 

"  It  isn't  a  touchdown !  It  can't  be !  We've  stopped 
them !  It's  Yale's  ball !  " 

Some  one  was  squirming  down  through  the  gradually 
lightening  mass.  A  great  weight  went  from  his  back, 
and  suddenly  he  saw  the  face  of  the  referee  seeking  the 
exact  location  of  the  ball. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  wildly. 

"  Touchdown." 

Some  one  dragged  him  to  his  feet,  and,  unnoticing,  he 
leaned  against  him,  gazing  at  the  ball  that  lay  just  over 
the  goal-line,  seeing  with  almost  a  bull-like  rage  the 
Princeton  substitutes  frantically  capering  up  and  down 
the  line,  hugging  one  another,  agitating  their  blankets, 
turning  somersaults. 

"  Line  up,  Yale,"  said  the  captain's  unyielding  voice, 
"  this  is  only  the  beginning.  We'll  get  'em." 

But  Stover  knew  better.  The  burst  of  anger  past,  his 
head  cleared.  That  Princeton  team  was  going  to  score 
again,  by  the  same  process,  playing  on  his  weakness,  ex 
changing  punts,  hoping  to  block  one  of  his  until  within 
striking  distance,  and  the  size  of  the  score  would  depend 
on  how  long  he  could  stand  it  off. 

"  Goal,"  came  the  referee's  verdict,  and  with  it  another 


130  STOVER   AT    YALE 

roar  from  somewhere.  He  went  up  the  field  looking 
straight  ahead,  hearing,  like  a  sound  in  a  memory,  a 
song  of  jubilation  and  the  brassy  accompaniment  of  a 
band. 

Again  the  same  story :  ten,  fifteen  yards  gained  on  every 
exchange  of  kicks,  and  a  slow  retrogression  toward  their 
own  goal.  Time  and  again  they  flung  themselves  against 
a  stronger  line,  in  a  vain  effort  to  win  back  the  last  yards. 
Once,  in  a  plunge  through  center,  he  found  an  opening, 
and  went  plunging  along  for  ten  yards;  but  at  the  last 
the  ball  was  Princeton's  on  the  thirty-five-yard  line,  and 
a  second  irresistible  march  bore  Yale  back,  fighting  and 
frantic  over  the  line  for  the  second  score. 

Playing  became  an  instinct  with  him.  He  no  longer 
feared  the  soaring  punts  that  came  tumbling  to  him  from 
the  clouds.  His  arms  closed  around  them  like  tentacles, 
and  he  was  off  for  the  meager  yards  he  could  gain  before 
he  went  down  with  a  crash.  He  no  longer  felt  the  shock 
of  the  desperate  tackles  he  was  called  on  to  make,  nor 
the  stifling  pressure  above  him  when  he  flung  himself 
under  the  serried  legs  of  the  mass. 

He  had  but  one  duty  —  to  be  true  to  what  he  had  prom 
ised  Tompkins:  not  to  fumble,  not  to  miss  a  tackle,  to 
get  each  punt  off  clean. 

All  at  once,  as  he  was  setting  in  position,  a  body  rushed 
in,  seizing  the  ball. 

"Time!" 

The  first  half  was  over,  and  the  score  was :  Princeton, 
18;  Yale,  o. 

Then  all  at  once  he  felt  his  weariness.  He  went  slowly, 
grimly  with  the  rest  back  to  the  dressing-room.  A  group 
of  urchins  clustering  to  a  tree  shrieked  at  them : 

"  O  you  Yaleses !  " 

He  heard  that,  and  that  was  all  he  heard.     A  sort  of 


STOVERATYALE  131 

rebellion  was  in  him.  He  had  done  all  that  he  could  do, 
and  now  they  would  haul  him  over  the  coals,  thinking 
that  was  what  he  needed. 

"  Oh,  I  know  what'll  be  said,"  he  thought  grimly. 
"  We'll  be  told  we  can  win  out  in  the  second,  and  all 
that  rot." 

Then  he  was  in  the  hands  of  the  rubbers,  having  his 
wet,  clinging  suit  stripped  from  him,  being  rubbed  and 
massaged.  He  did  not  want  to  look  at  his  comrades, 
least  of  all  Dana.  He  only  wanted  to  get  back,  to  have 
it  over  with. 

"  Yale,  I  want  you  to  listen  to  me." 

He  looked  up.  In  the  center  stood  Tompkins,  preter- 
naturally  grave,  trembling  a  little  with  nervous,  uncon 
trollable  twitches  of  his  body. 

"  You're  up  against  a  great  Princeton  team  —  the  great 
est  I  remember.  You  can't  win.  You  never  had  a 
chance  to  win.  But,  Yale,  you're  going  to  do  something 
to  make  us  proud  of  you.  You're  going  to  hold  that 
score  where  it  is !  Do  you  hear  me  ?  All  you've  got  left 
is  your  nerve  and  the  chance  to  show  that  you  can  die 
game.  That's  all  you're  going  to  do;  but,  by  heaven, 
you're  going  to  do  that!  You're  going  to  die  game, 
Yale!  Every  mother's  son  of  you!  And  when  the 
game's  over  we're  going  to  be  prouder  of  your  second 
half  than  the  whole  blooming  Princeton  bunch  over  their 
first.  There's  your  chance.  Make  us  rise  up  and  yell 
for  you.  Will  you,  Yale  ?  " 

He  passed  from  man  to  man,  advising,  exhorting,  or 
storming,  until  he  came  to  Stover. 

"  Dink,"  he  said,  putting  out  his  hand  and  changing 
his  tone  suddenly,  "  I  haven't  a  word  to  say  to  you. 
Play  the  game  as  you've  been  doing  —  only  play  it 
out." 


STOVER    AT    YALE 

Stover  felt  a  sudden  rush  of  shame ;  all  the  fatigue  left 
him  as  if  by  magic. 

"If  Charlie'll  only  give  me  a  few  chances  at  the  center. 
I  know  I  could  gain  there,"  he  said  eagerly. 

"  You'll  get  a  chance  later  on,  perhaps,  but  you've  quite 
enough  to  do  now." 

The  second  view  of  the  arena  was  clear  to  him,  even 
to  insignificant  details.  He  thought  the  cheer  leaders, 
laboring  muscularly  with  their  long  megaphones,  strangely 
out  of  place  —  especially  a  short,  fat  little  fellow  in  a 
white  voluminous  sweater.  He  saw  in  the  crowd  a  face 
or  two  that  he  recognized  —  Bob  Story  in  a  group  of 
pretty  girls,  all  superhumanly  glum  and  cast  down. 
Then  he  had  shed  his  sweater  and  was  out  on  the  field, 
back  under  the  goal-posts,  ready  for  the  bruising  second 
half  to  begin. 

"  All  ready,  Yale !  " 

"  All  ready." 

Again  the  whistle  and  the  rush  of  bodies.  Dana  caught 
the  ball,  and,  shifting  and  dodging,  shaking  off  the  first 
tacklers,  carried  it  back  twenty  yards.  Two  short,  jam 
ming  plunges  by  Dudley,  through  Regan,  who  alone  was 
outplaying  his  man,  yielded  first  down.  Then  an  attempt 
at  CockerelFs  end  brought  a  loss  and  the  inevitable  kick. 

Instead  of  a  return  punt,  the  Princeton  eleven  prepared 
to  rush  the  ball. 

"  Why  the  deuce  do  they  do  that?  "  he  thought,  biting 
his  fingers  nervously. 

Opening  up  their  play,  Princeton  swept  out  toward 
Bangs's  end,  forcing  it  back  for  four  yards,  and  immedi 
ately  made  first  down  with  a  long,  sweeping  lunge  at  the 
other  end. 

Suddenly  Stover,  in  the  backfield,  watching  like  a  cat, 
started  forward  with  a  cry.  Far  off  to  one  side,  a  Prince- 


STOVERATYALE  133 

ton  back,  unperceived,  was  bending  down,  pretending  to 
be  fastening  one  of  his  shoe-laces. 

"  Look  out  —  look  out  to  the  left !  " 

His  cry  came  too  late.  The  Princeton  quarter  made  a 
long  toss  straight  across,  twenty  yards,  to  the  loitering 
half,  who  caught  it  and  started  down  field  clear  of  the 
line  of  scrimmage. 

A  Princeton  forward  tried  to  intercept  him,  but  Stover 
flung  him  aside,  and,  without  waiting,  went  forward  at 
top  speed  to  meet  the  man  who  came  without  flinch 
ing  to  his  tackle.  It  was  almost  head  on,  and  the 
shock,  which  left  Stover  stunned,  instinctively  clinging 
to  his  man,  sent  the  ball  free,  where  Dana  pounced  upon 
it. 

"  Holy  Mike,  what  a  tackle ! "  said  Regan's  voice. 
"  Any  bones  broken  ?  " 

"Of  course  not,"  he  said  gruffly. 

Some  one  insisted  on  sponging  his  face,  much  to  his 
disgust. 

"  How's  the  other  fellow  ?  "  he  said  grimly. 

"  He's  a  tough  nut;  he's  up,  too! " 

"  He  must  be." 

The  recovery  of  the  ball  gave  them  a  short  respite,  but 
it  served  also  to  enrage  the  other  line,  which  rose  up  and 
absolutely  smothered  the  next  plays.  Again  his  kick 
seemed  to  graze  the  outstretched  fingers  of  the  Princeton 
forwards,  and  he  laughed  a  strange  laugh  which  he 
remembered  long  after. 

This  time  the  punting  duel  was  resumed  until,  well 
within  Yale  territory,  Cockerell  looked  around  and  gave 
the  signal  for  attack. 

"  Now,  Yale,  stop  it,  stop  it ! "  Dink  said,  talking  to 
himself. 

But  there  was  no  stopping  that  attack.     Powerless,  not 


134  ^STOVER   AT    YALE 

daring  to  approach,  he  saw  the  blue  line  bend  back  again 
and  again,  and  the  steady,  machine-like  rolling  up  of  the 
orange  and  black.  Over  the  twenty-five-yard  line  it  came, 
and  on  past  the  twenty. 

"  Oh,  Yale,  will  you  let  'em  score  again  ?  "  De  Soto 
was  shrieking. 

"  You're  on  your  ten-yard  line,  Yale." 

"Hold  them!" 

"Hold  them!" 

Two  yards  at  a  time,  they  were  rolled  back  with  a 
mathematical,  unfeeling  precision. 

"  Third  down ;  two  yards  to  go !  " 

"Yale,  stop  it!" 

"Yale!" 

And  stop  it  they  did,  by  a  bare  six  inches.  Behind  the 
goal-line,  Charlie  De  Soto  came  up,  as  he  stood  measuring 
his  distance  for  a  kick. 

"  How  are  you,  Dink  ?  Want  a  bit  of  a  rest  —  sponge- 
off?" 

"  Rest  be  hanged !  "  he  said  fiercely.  "  Come  on  with 
that  ball." 

Suddenly,  instead  of  kicking  low  and  off  to  the  right, 
he  sent  the  ball  straight  down  the  field  with  every  ounce 
of  strength  he  could  put  in  it.  The  punt,  the  best  he  had 
made,  catching  the  back  by  surprise,  went  over  his  head, 
rolling  up  the  field  before  he  could  recover  it.  A  great 
roar  went  up  from  the  Yale  stands,  fired  by  the  spirit  of 
resistance. 

Thereafter  it  had  all  a  grim  sameness,  except,  in  a 
strange  way,  it  seemed  to  him  that  nothing  that  had  gone 
before  counted  —  that  everything  they  were  fighting  for 
was  to  keep  their  goal-line  inviolate.  Nothing  new 
seemed  to  happen.  When  he  went  fiercely  into  a  melee, 
finding  his  man  somehow,  or  felt  the  rush  of  bodies  about 


STOVERATYALE  135 

him  as  he  managed  each  time  to  get  clear  his  punt,  he 
had  the  same  feeling: 

"  Why,  I've  done  this  before." 

A  dozen  times  they  stopped  the  Princeton  advance, 
sometimes  far  away  and  sometimes  near,  once  within  the 
five-yard  line.  Every  moment,  now,  some  one  cried 
wearily : 

"What's  the  time?" 

The  gray  of  November  twilights,  the  haze  that  settles 
over  the  struggles  of  the  gridiron  like  the  smoke  of  a 
battle-field,  began  to  close  in.  And  then  a  sudden  fumble, 
a  blocked  kick,  and  by  a  swift  turn  of  luck  it  was  Yale's 
ball  for  the  first  time  in  Princeton's  territory.  One  or 
two  subs  came  rushing  in  eagerly  from  the  side  lines. 
Every  one  was  talking  at  once : 

"What's  the  time?" 

"  Five  minutes  more." 

"Get  together,  Yale!" 

"  Show  'em  how !  * 

"  Ram  it  through  them !  " 

"  Here's  our  chance !  " 

Stover,  beside  himself,  ran  up  to  De  Soto  and  flung 
his  arms  about  his  neck,  whispering  in  his  ear: 

"  Give  me  a  chance  —  you  must  give  me  a  chance ! 
Send  me  through  Regan !  " 

He  got  his  signal,  and  went  into  the  breach  with  every 
nerve  set,  fighting  his  way  behind  the  great  bulk  of  Regan 
for  a  good  eight  yards.  A  second  time  he  was  called  on, 
and  broke  the  line  for  another  first  down. 

Regan  was  transformed.  All  his  calm  had  gone.  He 
loomed  in  the  line  like  a  Colossus,  flinging  out  his  arms, 
shouting : 

"  We're  rotten,  are  we  ?  Carry  it  right  down  the  field, 
boys ! " 


136  STOVERATYALE 

Every  one  caught  the  infection.  De  Soto,  with  his 
hand  to  his  mouth,  was  shouting  hoarsely,  through  the 
bedlam  of  cheers,  his  gleeful  slogan: 

"  We  don't  want  to  live  forever,  boys !  What  do  we 
care?  We've  got  to  face  Yale  after  this.  Never  mind 
your  necks.  We've  got  the  doctors !  A  little  more  mur 
der,  now !  Shove  that  ball  down  that  field,  Yale !  Send 
them  back  on  stretchers !  Nineteen  —  eight  —  six  —  four 
—  Ha-a-ard!" 

Again  and  again  Stover  was  called  on,  and  again  and 
again,  with  his  whole  team  behind  him  or  Regan's  great 
arm  about  him,  struggling  to  keep  his  feet,  crawling  on 
his  knees,  fighting  for  every  last  inch,  he  carried  the  ball 
down  the  field  twenty,  thirty  yards  on. 

He  forgot  where  he  was,  standing  there  with  blazing 
eyes  and  colorless  face.  He  forgot  that  he  was  only  the 
freshman,  as  he  had  that  night  in  the  wrestling  bout.  He 
gave  orders,  shouted  advice,  spurred  them  on.  He  felt 
no  weariness;  nothing  could  tire  him.  His  chance  had 
come  at  last.  He  went  into  the  line  each  time  blubbering, 
laughing  with  the  fierce  joy  of  it,  shouting  to  himself : 

"  I'm  the  weak  spot,  am  I  ?     I'll  show  them !  " 

And  the  certainty  of  it  all  overwhelmed  him.  Nothing 
could  stop  him  now.  He  knew  it.  He  was  going  to 
score.  He  was  going  to  cross  that  line  only  fifteen  yards 
away. 

"  Give  me  that  ball  again !  "  he  cried  to  De  Soto. 

Then  something  seemed  to  go  wrong.  De  Soto  and 
Dudley  were  shrieking  out  something,  protesting  wildly. 

"What's  wrong?"  he  cried. 

"  They're  calling  time  on  us !  " 

"  No,  no,  it's  not  possible  !     It's  not  time !  " 

He  turned  hysterically,  beseechingly,  catching  hold 
of  the  referee's  arm,  not  knowing  what  he  did. 


STOVERATYALE  137 

"  Mr.  Referee,  it  isn't  time.     Mr.  Referee  — " 

"  Game's  over/'  said  Captain  Dana's  still  voice.  "  Get 
together,  Yale.  Cheer  for  Princeton  now.  Make  it  a 
good  one ! " 

But  no  one  heard  them  in  the  uproar  that  suddenly 
went  up.  Nature  could  not  hold  out ;  the  disappointment 
had  been  too  severe.  Stover  stood  with  his  arms  on 
Regan's  shoulders,  and  together  they  bowed  their  heads 
and  went  choking  through  the  crowd.  Others  rushed 
around  him  —  he  thought  he  heard  Tompkins  saying 
something.  He  seemed  lost  in  the  crowd  that  stared  at 
him,  struggling  to  hold  back  his  grief.  Only  one  figure 
stood  out  distinctly  —  the  figure  of  a  white-haired  man, 
who  took  off  his  hat  to  him  as  he  went  through  the  bar 
rier,  and  shouted  something  unintelligible  —  a  strangely 
excited  white-haired  man. 

All  the  way  back  to  the  gymnasium,  through  the  jubi 
lant  street,  Dink  sat  staring  out  unseeing,  his  eyes  blurred, 
a  great  lump  in  his  throat,  possessed  by  a  fatigue  such  as 
he  had  never  known  before.  No  one  spoke.  Through 
his  own  brain  ceaselessly  the  score,  strangely  jumbled, 
went  its  tiring  way: 

"  Eighteen  to  nothing  —  to  nothing !  Eighteen  to  six 
—  it  should  have  been  eighteen  to  six.  Eighteen  to  noth 
ing.  It's  awful  —  awful!  If  I  only  could  punt!" 

His  ideal,  his  dream  of  a  Yale  team,  had  always  been 
of  victory,  not  like  this,  to  go  down  powerless,  swept 
aside,  routed  —  to  such  a  defeat ! 

Then  he  shut  his  eyes,  fighting  over  again  those  last 
desperate  rushes  against  defeat,  against  hope,  against 
time,  unable  to  believe  it  was  over. 

"  How  many  times  did  I  take  that  ball  ?  "  he  thought 
wearily.  "Was  it  seven  or  eight?  If  I'd  only  got  free 
that  last  time  —  kept  my  feet !  " 


138  STOVER    AT    YALE 

He  remembered  flashes  of  that  last  frenzy  —  the  face 
of  a  Princeton  rusher  who  reached  for  him  and  missed, 
the  teeth  savage  as  a  wolf's  and  the  strained  mouth.  He 
saw  again  Regan  turning  around  to  pull  him  through, 
Regan,  the  brute,  raging  like  a  fury.  He  remembered  the 
quick,  strange  white  looks  that  Charlie  De  Soto  had  given 
him,  wondering  each  time  if  he  had  the  strength  to  go 
on.  Why  had  they  stopped  them?  They  had  a  right  to 
that  last  rally ! 

"  Eighteen  to  nothing.  Poor  Dana  —  I  wonder  what 
he'll  do?" 

He  remembered,  in  a  far-off  way,  tales  he  had  heard 
of  other  captains,  disgraced  by  defeat,  breaking  down, 
leaving  college,  disappearing.  He  dreaded  the  moment 
when  they  should  break  silence,  when  the  awful  thing 
must  be  talked  over,  there  in  the  gymnasium,  feeling 
acutely  all  the  misery  and  ache  Dana  must  be  feeling. 

"  All  right  there,  Stover  ?  Let  yourself  go,  if  you  want 
to/' 

The  voice  was  Tompkins',  who  was  looking  up  at  him 
anxiously,  the  gymnasium  at  his  back. 

"  All  right,"  he  said  gruffly,  raising  himself  with  an 
effort  and  half  slipping  to  the  ground. 

"Sure?     How's  Dudley?" 

He  realized  in  a  curious  way  that  others,  too,  had  gone 
through  the  game.  Then  Regan's  arm  was  around  him. 
He  did  not  put  it  from  him,  grateful  for  any  support  in 
his  weakness.  Together  they  went  through  the  crowd 
of  ragamuffins  staring  open-mouthed  at  a  defeated  team. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  Dudley?  " 

"  Played  through  all  the  last  with  a  couple  of  broken 
ribs." 

"Dudley?" 


STOVER    AT    YALE  139 

"  Yes.     Go  as  slow  as  you  want,  old  bantam." 

"  If  we  only  could  have  had  another  minute,  Tom — " 
He  stopped,  unable  to  go  on,  shaking  his  head. 

"  I  know,  I  know." 

"  It  was  tough." 

"  Darned  tough." 

"  I  thought  we  were  going  to  do  it." 

"  Now,  you  shut  up,  young  rooster.  Don't  think  of 
it  any  more.  You  played  like  a  fiend.  We're  proud  of 
you." 

"Poor  Dana!" 

Upstairs  a  couple  of  rubbers  took  charge  of  him,  strip 
ping  him  and  rubbing  him  rigorously.  Two  or  three 
coaches  came  up  to  him,  gripping  him  with  silent  grips, 
patting  him  on  the  back.  The  cold  bite  of  the  shower 
brought  back  some  of  his  vitality,  and  he  dressed  mechan 
ically  with  the  squad,  who  had  nothing  to  say  to  one 
another. 

"  Yale,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  boys  a  moment." 

He  looked  up.  In  the  center  of  the  room  was  Rivers, 
coach  of  coaches,  around  whom  the  traditions  of  football 
had  been  formed.  Stover  looked  at  him  dully,  wonder 
ing  how  he  could  stand  there  filled  with  such  energy. 

"  Now,  boys,  the  game's  over.  We've  lost.  It's  our 
turn;  we've  got  to  stand  it.  One  thing  I  want  you  to 
remember  when  you  go  out  of  here.  Yale  teams  take 
their  medicine!" 

His  voice  rose  to  a  nervous  staccato,  and  the  sharp, 
cold  eye  seemed  to  look  into  every  man,  just  as  at  school 
the  Doctor  used  to  awe  them. 

"  Do  you  understand  ?  Yale  teams  take  their  medicine  f 
No  talking,  no  reasoning,  no  explanations,  no  excuses, 
and  no  criticism!  The  thing's  over  and  done.  We'll 


140  STOVERATYALE 

have  a  dinner  to-night,  and  we'll  start  in  on  next  year; 
and  next  year  nothing  under  the  sun's  going  to  stop  us ! 
Go  out;  take  off  your  hats!  A  great  Princeton  team 
licked  you  —  licked  you  well !  That's  all.  You  deserved 
to  score.  You  didn't.  Hard  luck.  But  those  who  saw 
you  try  for  it  won't  forget  it !  We're  proud  of  that  sec 
ond  half!  No  talk,  now,  about  what  might  have  hap 
pened  ;  no  talk  about  what  you're  going  to  do.  Shut  up ! 
Remember  —  grin  and  take  your  medicine." 

"  Mr.  Rivers,  I'd  like  to  say  a  few  words." 

Stover,  with  almost  a  feeling  of  horror,  saw  Dana  step 
forward  quietly,  purse  his  lips,  look  about  openly,  and 
say: 

"  Mr.  Rivers,  I  understand  what  you  mean,  and  what's 
underneath  it  all,  and  I  thank  you  for  it.  At  the  same 
time,  it's  up  to  me  to  take  the  blame,  and  I'm  not  going 
to  dodge  it.  I've  been  a  poor  captain.  I  thought  I  knew 
more  than  you  did,  and  I  didn't.  I've  made  one  fool 
blunder  after  another.  But  I  did  it  honestly.  Well, 
that  doesn't  matter  —  let  that  go.  I  say  this  because  it's 
right,  too,  I  should  take  my  medicine,  and  because  I  don't 
want  next  year's  captain  to  botch  the  job  the  way  I've 
done.  And  now,  just  a  word  to  you  men.  You've  done 
everything  I  asked  you  to  do,  and  kept  your  mouths  shut, 
no  matter  what  you  thought  of  it.  You've  been  loyal, 
and  you'll  be  loyal,  and  there'll  be  no  excuses  outside. 
But  I  want  you  men  to  know  that  I'll  remember  it,  and 
I  want  to  thank  you.  That's  all." 

Instantly  there  was  a  buzz  of  voices,  and  one  clear  note 
dominating  it  —  Regan's  voice,  stirred  beyond  thought  of 
self: 

"  Boys,  we're  going  to  give  that  captain  a  cheer.  Are 
you  ready  ?  Hip  —  hip  !  " 

Somehow  the  cry  that  went  up  took  from  Dink  all  the 


STOVERATYALE  141 

sting  of  defeat.  He  went  out,  head  erect,  back  to  meet 
his  college,  no  longer  shrinking  from  the  ordeal,  proud 
of  his  captain,  proud  of  his  coach,  and  proud  of  a  lesson 
he  had  learned  bigger  than  a  victory. 


CHAPTER  XI 

AFTER  the  drudgery  of  the  football  season  lie  had  a 
few  short  weeks  of  gorgeous  idleness,  during  which 
he  browsed  through  a  novel  a  day,  curled  up  on  his  win- 
'dow-seat,    rolling   tobacco    clouds   through    the    fog   of 
smokers  in  the  room.     He  had  won  his  spurs  and  the 
right  to  lounge,  and  he  looked  forward  eagerly  to  the 
rest  of  the  year  as  a  time  for  reading  and  the  opening 
uip  of  the  friendships  of  which  he  had  dreamed. 

Old  age  settled  down  rapidly  upon  him,  and  at  eighteen 
that  malady  appears  in  its  most  virulent  form.  Perhaps 
there  was  a  little  justification.  The  test  he  had  gone 
through  had  educated  him  to  self-control  in  its  most  dif 
ficult  form.  He  was  not  simply  the  big  man  of  the  class, 
the  first  to  emerge  to  fame,  but  the  prospective  captain 
of  a  future  Yale  eleven.  A  certain  gravity  was  requisite 
—  moreover,  it  was  due  the  University.  To  have  seen 
the  burning  letters  S-T-O-V-E-R  actually  vibrating  on 
the  front  pages  of  metropolitan  papers,  to  have  gazed  on 
his  distinguished  (though  slightly  smudged)  features, 
ruined  by  an  unfeeling  photographer,  but  disputing  never 
theless  the  public  attention  with  statesmen  and  champions 
of  the  pugilistic  ring  —  to  have  felt  these  heavenly  sensa 
tions  at  the  age  of  eighteen  could  not  be  lightly  disguised. 

So  he  lay  back  among  welcome  cushions,  book  in  hand, 
and  listened  with  a  tolerant  ear  to  the  rapid-fire  comedy 
of  McNab  and  Buck  Waters.  He  stayed  much  in  his 
own  room,  which  became  a  sort  of  lounging  spot  where 
the  air  was  always  blue  with  smoke  and  a  mandolin  or 


STOVERATYALE 

guitar  was  strumming  a  low  refrain  or  a  group  near  the 
fireplace  was  noisy  with  the  hazards  of  the  national  game. 

Pretty  much  every  one  of  importance  in  the  class 
dropped  in  en  him.  The  preliminary  visiting  period  of 
the  sophomore  societies  was  nearly  over.  With  the  open 
ing  of  the  winter  term  the  hold-off  s  and  elections  would 
begin.  He  understood  that  those  who  were  uncertain 
wished  the  advantage  of  being  seen  in  his  company  —  that 
his,  in  fact,  was  now  the  "  right  "  crowd. 

He  intended  to  call  oh  several  men  who  interested  him : 
Brockhurst,  who  had  made  his  appearance  with  a  story 
in  the  Lit  which  announced  him  as  a  possible  future  chair 
man  ;  Gimbel,  about  whose  opinions  and  sincerity  he  was 
in  doubt ;  and,  above  all,  Regan,  who  genuinely  attracted 
him.  But,  somehow,  having  now  nothing  to  do,  his  after 
noons  and  evenings  seemed  always  filled,  and  he  contin 
ually  postponed  until  the  morrow  what  suggested  itself 
during  the  day.  Besides,  there  was  a  complacent  delight 
in  being  his  own  master  again  and  of  looking  forward  to 
such  a  period  of  independent  languor. 

The  first  discordant  note  to  intrude  itself  upon  this 
ideal  was  a  remark  of  Le  Baron's  during  one  of  the  even 
ing  visits.  These  embassies  were  always  conducted  with 
punctiliousness  and  gravity.  The  inquisitorial  sopho 
mores  arrived  about  eight  o'clock  in  groups  of  three  and 
four.  As  McCarthy  was  the  object  of  attention  from  a 
different  society,  Stover,  when  the  former's  inspectors  ar 
rived,  shook  hands  gravely,  and  shortly  discovered  that 
he  had  a  letter  to  post  at  the  corner.  When  the  com 
mittee  on  Stover  appeared  trimly  at  the  door,  McCarthy 
rose  at  once  to  return  a  hypothetical  book,  after  which 
the  conversation  began  with  about  as  much  spontaneity 
and  zest  as  would  be  permitted  to  a  board  of  alienists 
sitting  in  judgment  on  a  victim.  The  sophomores  were 


144  STOVER    AT    YALE 

embarrassed  with  their  own  impromptu  dignity,  and  the 
freshmen  at  the  constraint  of  their  superiors. 

On  one  such  occasion,  after  the  committee  of  four  had 
spent  fifteen  minutes  in  the  grave  discussion  of  a  kinder 
garten  topic,  and  had  filed  out  with  funereal  solemnity, 
Le  Baron  returned  for  a  more  intimate  conversation. 

Since  the  night  of  his  introduction  to  college,  Stover 
had  had  only  occasional  glimpses  of  Le  Baron.  True,  he 
was  generally  of  the  visiting  committee  that  called  every 
other  night  for  perfunctory  inspection,  but  through  it  all 
the  sophomore  had  adopted  an  attitude  of  almost  de 
fensive  aloofness  and  impartiality. 

"  I  want  to  talk  over  some  of  the  men  in  the  class," 
said  Le  Baron,  falling  into  an  arm-chair  and  picking  up  a 
pipe,  while  his  manner  changed  to  naturalness  and  equal 
ity.  Stover  understood  at  once  that  the  attitude  was  a 
notice  served  on  him  of  the  security  of  his  own  position. 

"  Dink,  I  want  to  know  your  opinion.  What  do  you 
think  of  Brockhurst,  for  instance  ?  " 

"Brockhurst?     Why,   I  hardly  know  him." 

"Is  he  liked?" 

"  Why,  yes." 

"Who  are  his  friends?" 

Stover  thought  a  moment. 

"  Why,  I  think  he  rather  keeps  to  himself.  He  strikes 
me  as  being  —  well,  a  little  undeveloped  —  rather  shy." 

"Do  you  like  him?" 

"  I  do." 

"And  Schley?" 

The  question  was  put  abruptly,  Le  Baron  raising  his 
eyes  to  get  his  answer  from  Stover's  face. 

"Schley?"  said  Dink,  considering  a  little.  "Why, 
Schley  seems  to — " 

"  Regan  ?  "  said  Le  Baron,  satisfied. 


STOVERATYALE  145 

"  One  of  the  best  in  the  class !  " 

"  He  seems  a  rather  rough  diamond." 

"  He's  proud  as  Lucifer  —  but  he  has  more  to  him  than 
any  one  I  know." 

"  It's  a  question  what  he'll  do." 

"  I'd  back  him  every  time." 

"  You  are  quite  enthusiastic  about  him,"  said  Le  Baron, 
looking  at  him  with  a  little  quizzical  surprise. 

"  He's  a  man,"  said  Stover  stoutly. 

"Of  course,  the  football  captaincy  will  probably  be 
between  you  two." 

"  Regan  ?  "  said  Stover,  amazed. 

"  Either  you  or  Regan." 

Stover  had  never  thought  of  him  as  a  rival  for  his 
dearest  ambition.  He  remained  silent,  digesting  the  pos 
sibility,  aware  of  Le  Baron's  searching  inquiry. 

"Of  course,  you  have  nine  chances  out  of  ten,  but  the 
race  is  a  long  one." 

"  He  would  make  a  good  captain,"  Stover  said  slowly. 

"You  think  so?" 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  it  before,"  Stover  said,  with  a 
sudden  falling  inside,  "  but  he  has  the  stuff  in  him  of  a 
leader  all  right." 

"  I  wish  he  weren't  quite  so  set,"  said  Le  Baron.  "  He 
hasn't  made  a  particularly  favorable  impression  on  some 
of  the  fellows." 

An  involuntary  smile  came  to  Stover  at  the  thought 
of  Regan's  probable  reception  of  a  committee  of  inspec 
tion. 

"  He  doesn't  perhaps  realize  the  importance  of  some 
things,"  he  said  carefully. 

"  He  doesn't,"  said  Le  Baron,  who  was  not  without  a 
sense  of  humor.  "  It's  a  pity,  though,  for  his  sake.  I 
wish  you'd  talk  to  him  a  little." 


146  STOVER   AT    YALE 

"  I  will." 

Le  Baron  rose. 

"  By  the  way,  what  are  you  going  out  for  this  spring  ?  " 

"This  spring?"  said  Stover,  surprised. 

"  Ever  rowed  any  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  That  doesn't  make  any  difference.  You  learn  the 
stroke  quicker  —  no  bad  habits." 

"  I'm  light  as  mischief." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  —  not  for  the  freshman.  We  want 
to  stimulate  the  interest  in  rowing  up  here.  It's  a  good 
example  for  a  man  like  you  to  come  out.  Ever  done 
anything  in  baseball  or  the  track  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Rowing's  the  stunt  for  you."  He  went  toward  the 
door,  and  turned.  "  Have  a  little  chat  with  Regan.  I 
admire  the  fellow,  but  he  needs  to  rub  up  a  bit  with  you 
fellows  and  get  the  sharp  edges  off  him.  By  the  way, 
when  you  start  rowing  I'll  get  hold  of  you  and  give  you  a 
little  extra  coaching." 

When  McCarthy  came  grinning  through  the  door,  he 
found  Dink,  his  legs  drawn  up  Turkish  fashion,  staring 
rebelliously  at  the  ceiling. 

"  Hello !  In  love,  or  what  ? "  said  Tough,  stopping 
short.  "  Recovering,  perhaps,  from  the  brilliant  conver 
sation?" 

"  By  George,  I'm  not  going  out  for  anything  more !  " 
said  Dink,  between  his  teeth. 

"  Heavens !  haven't  you  slaved  enough  ?  " 

"  You  bet  I  have.  I'll  be  hanged  if  I'm  going  through 
here  —  just  varsity  material.  I'm  going  to  be  a  little 
while  my  own  master." 

"  You  think  so  ?  "  said  McCarthy,  with  a  short,  incredu- 


STOVERATYALE  147 

lous  laugh.  "  Every  one's  doing  something."  McCarthy 
was  a  candidate  for  the  baseball  nine. 

"  Have  you  heard  anything  about  Regan  ?  "  said  Stover, 
between  puffs. 

"In  what  way?" 

"  Have  any  of  the  sophomores  been  around  to  see 
him?" 

McCarthy  exploded  into  laughter.  "Have  they? 
Didn't  you  hear  what  happened  ?  " 

"No.     What?" 

"  They  spent  half  the  night  locating  his  diggings,  and 
when  they  got  them  the  old  rhinoceros  wouldn't  receive 
them." 

"Why  not?  " 

"  Hadn't  time,  he  said,  to  be  fooling  with  them." 

"  The  old  chump !  " 

"  Lucky  dog,"  said  McCarthy,  between  his  teeth.  "  I 
wish  I  had  the  nerve  to  do  the  same." 

"What  the  deuce?" 

"  It  makes  me  boil !  I  can't  sit  up  and  have  a  solemn 
bunch  of  fools  look  me  over.  I  can't  be  natural." 

"  It's  give  and  take,"  said  Dink,  smiling.  "  You'll  think 
yourself  the  lord  of  the  universe  next  year." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure,"  said  McCarthy,  gloomily. 

"Rats!" 

"  Oh,  you  —  you've  a  cinch,"  said  McCarthy. 
'''  They're  not  picking  you  to  pieces  and  dissecting  you. 
Half  the  crowd  that  come  to  see  me  have  got  some  friends 
in  the  class  they'd  rather  see  in  than  me.  I'm  darned 
uncertain,  and  I  know  it." 

Stover,  who  believed  the  contrary,  laughed  at  him.  He 
rose  and  went  out,  determined  to  find  Regan  and  make 
him  understand  conditions. 


148  STOVERATYALE 

His  walk  led  him  along  the  dark  ways  of  College  Street 
into  the  forgotten  street  where,  under  the  roof  of  a 
bakery,  Regan  had  found  a  breathing-hole  for  five  dollars 
a  month. 

For  the  first  time  a  little  feeling  of  jealousy  went 
through  Stover  as  he  swung  along.  Why  should  he  help 
build  up  the  man  who  might  snatch  from  him  his  ambi 
tion  ?  Why  the  deuce  had  Le  Baron  mentioned  Regan  as 
a  possible  captain  ?  No  one  else  thought  of  such  a  thing. 
Compared  to  him,  Regan  was  a  novice  in  football  knowl 
edge  and  experience.  Still,  it  was  true  that  the  man  had 
a  stalwart,  unflinching  way  of  moving  on  that  impressed. 
There  was  a  danger  there  with  which  he  must  reckon. 

He  found  Regan  in  carpet  slippers  and  sweater,  bend 
ing  grimly  over  the  next  day's  Greek  as  if  it  were  a  rock 
to  be  shattered  with  the  weight  of  his  back. 

"  8-16-6-9-47,"  said  Stover,  in  a  hallo,  giving  the  signal 
that  had  sent  him  through  the  center. 

Regan  started  up. 

"  Hello,  Dink,  old  bantam ;  glad  to  hear  your  voice." 

Stover  entered,  with  a  glance  at  the  room.  A  cot,  a 
bureau,  a  washstand  reen  forced  by  ropes,  a  pine  table 
scorched  and  blistered,  and  a  couple  of  chairs  were  the 
entire  equipment.  Half  the  gas  globe  was  left  and  two- 
thirds  of  the  yellow-green  shade  at  the  window.  In  the 
corner  was  the  battle-scarred  valise  which  had  brought 
Regan's  whole  effects  to  college. 

"Boning  out  the  Greek?"  said  Stover,  placing  a 
straight  chair  against  the  wall  so  that  his  feet  could  find 
the  ledge  of  the  window. 

"  Wrestling  with  it." 

"  Don't  you  use  a  trot  ?  "  said  Stover  in  some  surprise, 
perceiving  the  absence  of  the  handy,  literal  short-cut  to 
recitation. 


STOVERATYALE  149 

"  Can't  afford  to." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Stover,  wondering  if  Regan  was  a 
gospel  shark,  after  all. 

"  I've  got  too  much  to  learn,"  said  Regan,  leaning  back 
and  elevating  his  legs  in  the  national  position.  "  You 
know  something;  I  don't.  You  can  bluff;  I'm  a  rotten 
bluffer.  I've  got  to  train  my  whole  mind,  lick  it  into 
shape  and  make  it  work  for  me,  if  I'm  going  to  do  what 
I  want." 

"  Tom,  what  are  you  aiming  for  ?  " 

"  You'd  never  guess." 

"Well,  what?" 

"  Politics." 

"  Politics  ?  "  said  Stover,  opening  his  mouth. 

"  Exactly,"  said  Regan,  puffing  at  his  corncob  pipe. 
"  I  want  to  go  back  out  West  and  get  in  the  fight.  It's 
a  glorious  fight  out  there.  A  real  fight.  You  don't  know 
the  West,  Stover." 

"  No." 

"  We  believe  in  something  out  there,  and  we  get  up 
and  fight  for  it  —  independence,  new  ideas,  clean  govern 
ment,  hard  fighters." 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  you  that  way,"  said  Stover,  more 
and  more  surprised. 

"  That's  the  only  thing  I  care  about,"  said  Regan 
frankly.  "  I've  come  from  nothing,  and  I  believe  in  that 
nothing.  But  to  do  anything  I've  got  to  get  absolute  hold 
of  myself." 

"  Tom,  you  ought  to  get  in  with  the  fellows  more. 
You  ought  to  know  all  kinds,"  said  Stover,  feeling  an 
opening. 

"  I  will,  when  I  get  the  right,"  said  Regan,  nodding. 

"  Why  the  devil  don't  you  let  the  University  help  you 
out  a  while  ?  You  can  pay  it  back,"  said  Stover  angrily. 


150  STOVERATYALE 

"  Never !  I  know  it  could  be  done,  but  not  for  me," 
said  Regan,  shaking  his  head.  "  What  I  need  is  the 
hardest  things  to  come  up  against,  and  I'm  not  going  to 
dodge  them." 

"  Still,  you  ought  to  be  with  us ;  you  ought  to  make 
friends." 

"  I'm  going  to  do  that,"  said  Regan,  nodding.  "  I'm 
going  to  get  in  at  South  Middle  after  Christmas  and  per 
haps  get  some  work  in  the  Coop."  He  took  up  a  sheet 
of  paper  jotted  over  with  figures.  "  I'm  about  fifty  dol 
lars  to  the  good;  a  couple  of  weeks'  work  at  Christmas 
will  bring  that  up  about  twenty  more.  If  I  can  make  a 
hundred  and  fifty  this  summer  I'll  have  a  good  start. 
I  want  to  do  it,  because  I  want  to  play  football.  It's 
bully!  I  like  the  fight  in  it!" 

"  What  sort  of  work  will  you  do  ?  "  said  Stover  curi 
ously. 

"  I  may  go  in  the  surface  cars  down  in  New  York." 

"Driving?" 

"  Sure.  They  get  good  pay.  I  could  get  work  in 
the  mines  —  I've  done  that  —  but  it's  pretty  tough." 

"  But,  Tom,  what  the  deuce  do  you  pick  out  the  hard 
est  grind  for  ?  Make  friends  with  fellows  who  only  want 
to  know  you  and  like  you,  and  you'll  get  a  dozen  open 
ings  where  you'll  make  twice  what  you  get  at  manual 
labor." 

"  Well,  there's  this  to  it,"  said  Regan  ruminatively, 
"  It's  an  opportunity  I  won't  always  have." 

"  What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  The  opportunity  to  meet  the  fellow  who  gets  the 
grind  of  life  —  to  understand  what  he  thinks  of  him 
self,  and  especially  what  he  thinks  of  those  above  him.  I 
won't  have  many  more  chances  to  see  him  on  the  ground 
floor,  and  some  day  I've  got  to  know  him  well  enough  to 


STOVER    AT    YALE  151 

convince  him.  See?  By  the  way,  it  would  be  a  good 
college  course  for  a  lot  of  you  fellows  if  you  got  in  touch 
with  the  real  thing  also." 

"  Are  you  a  socialist  ?  "  said  Stover,  who  vaguely  as 
sociated  the  term  with  dynamite  and  destruction. 

"  I  may  be,  but  I  don't  know  it." 

"  I  say,  Tom,  do  you  go  in  for  debating  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing?" 

"You  bet  I  do;  but  it  comes  hard  as  hen's  teeth." 

Stover,  who  had  waited  for  an  opportunity  to  volunteer 
advice,  finding  no  opening,  resolved  to  take  the  dilemma 
by  the  horns. 

"  Tom,  I  think  you're  wrong  about  one  thing." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Holding  aloof  so  much." 

"Particularly  what?" 

"  I'm  thinking  about  sophomore  societies,  for  one  thing. 
Why  the  deuce  don't  you  give  the  fellows  a  chance  to  help 
you?" 

"  Oh,  you  mean  the  dinky  little  bunch  that  came  around 
to  call  on  me,"  said  Regan  thoughtfully. 

"Yes.     Now,  why  turn  them  out  ?" 

"  Why,  they  bored  me,  and,  besides,  I  haven't  time 
for  anything  like  that.  There  are  too  many  big  things 
here." 

"  They  can  help  you  like  the  mischief,  now  and  after 
ward." 

"  Thanks ;  I'll  help  myself.  Besides,  I  don't  want  to 
get  their  point  of  view." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Too  limited." 

"  Have  you  been  talking  to  Gimbel  ? "  said  Stover, 
wondering. 

"Gimbel?     No;  why?" 


152  STOVER   AT   YALE 

"  Because  he  is  organizing  the  class  against  them." 

"  That  doesn't  interest  me,  either." 

"What  do  you  make  of  Gimbel?" 

"  Gimbel's  all  right ;  a  good  politician." 

"Is  he  sincere?" 

"  Every  one's  sincere." 

"  You  mean  every  one's  convinced  of  his  own  sin 
cerity." 

"  Sure ;  easiest  person  in  the  world  to  convince." 

Stover  laughed  a  little  consciously,  wondering  for  a 
brief  moment  if  the  remark  could  be  directed  at  him. 
Curiously  enough,  the  more  the  blunt  antagonism  of 
Regan  impressed  him,  the  more  he  was  reassured  that  the 
man  was  too  radical  ever  to  challenge  his  leadership. 
He  rose  to  go,  his  conscience  satisfied  by  the  half-hearted 
appeal  he  had  made. 

"  I  say,  Dink,"  said  Regan,  laying  his  huge  paw  on 
his  shoulder,  "  don't  get  your  head  turned  by  this  social 
business." 

"  Heavens,  no  !  " 

'*  'Cause  there's  some  real  stuff  in  you,  boy,  and  some 
day  it's  coming  out.  Thanks,  by  the  way,  for  wanting 
to  make  me  a  society  favorite." 

Dink  left  with  a  curious  mixture  of  emotions. 
Regan  always  had  an  ascendency  over  him  he  could  not 
explain.  It  irritated  him  that  he  could  not  shake  it  off, 
and  yet  he  was  genuinely  chained  to  the  man. 

"  Why  the  deuce  did  Le  Baron  put  that  in  my  head  ?  " 
he  said  to  himself,  for  the  tenth  time.  "If  Regan  beats 
me  out  for  captain  it'll  only  be  because  he's  older  and  has 
got  a  certain  way  about  him.  Well,  I  suppose  if  I'm  to 
be  captain  I've  got  to  close  up  more;  I  can't  go  cutting 
up  like  a  kid.  I've  got  to  be  older." 

He  resolved  to  be  more  dignified,  more  melancholy, 


STOVERATYALE  153 

shorter  of  speech,  and  consistent  in  gravity.  For  the  first 
time  he  felt  what  it  meant  to  calculate  his  chances.  Be 
fore,  everything  had  come  to  him  easily.  He  had  missed 
the  struggle  and  the  heartburnings.  Now,  suddenly,  a 
shadow  had  fallen  across  the  open  road,  the  shadow  of 
one  whom  he  had  regarded  as  a  sort  of  protege.  He  had 
thoughts  of  which  he  was  ashamed,  for  at  the  bottom  he 
was  glad  that  Regan  would  not  be  of  a  sophomore  society 
—  that  that  advantage  would  be  denied  him ;  and,  a  little 
guiltily,  he  wondered  if  he  had  tried  as  hard  as  he  might 
have  to  show  him  the  opportunity. 

"  If  they  ever  know  him  as  I  do,"  he  said,  with  a  gen 
erous  revulsion,  "  he'll  be  the  biggest  thing  in  the  class." 
York  Street  and  the  busy  windows  of  Pierson  Hall  came 
into  his  vision.  A  group  of  sophomores,  ending  their 
tour  of  visits,  passed  him,  saluting  him  cordially.  He 
thought  all  at  once,  with  a  sharp  rebellion,  how  much  freer 
Regan  was,  with  his  own  set  purpose,  than  he  under  the 
tutelage  of  Le  Baron. 

"  I  wonder  what  I'd  do  if  no  darn  sophomore  societies 
existed,"  he  said  to  himself  thoughtfully.  And  then,  go 
ing  up  the  stairs  to  his  room,  he  said  to  McCarthy  as  he 
entered :  "  I  guess,  after  all,  I'll  get  out  and  slave  again 
this  spring  —  might  as  well  heel  the  crew.  I'm  just 
varsity  material  —  that's  all !  " 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  first  weeks  of  the  competition  for  the  crew 
were  not  exacting,  and  consisted  mostly  of  elimina 
ting  processes.  Stover  had  consequently  still  enough 
leisure  to  gravitate  naturally  into  that  necessity  of  run 
ning  into  debt  which  comes  to  every  youth  who  has  just 
won  the  privilege  of  a  yearly  allowance;  the  same  being 
solemnly  understood  to  cover  all  the  secret  and  hidden 
needs  of  the  flesh  as  well  as  those  that  are  outwardly  ex 
posed  to  the  admiration  of  the  multitude. 

Now,  the  lure  of  personal  adornment  and  the  charm 
of  violent  neckties  and  outrageous  vests  had  come  to  him 
naturally,  as  such  things  come,  shortly  after  the  measles, 
under  the  educating  influence  of  a  hopeless  passion  which 
had  passed  but  had  left  its  handiwork. 

About  a  week  after  the  opening  of  the  term,  Stover 
was  drifting  down  Chapel  Street  in  the  company  of  Hun- 
gerford  and  McCarthy,  when,  in  the  window  of  the  most 
predatory  haberdasher's,  he  suddenly  was  fascinated  by 
the  most  beautiful  thing  he  had  ever  seen  adorning  a  win 
dow.  A  tinge  of  masculine  modesty  prevented  his  re 
maining  in  struck  admiration  before  it,  especially  in  the 
presence  of  McCarthy  and  Hungerford,  whose  souls 
could  rest  content  in  jerseys  and  sweaters;  but  half  an 
hour  later,  slipping  away,  he  returned,  fascinated. 
Chance  had  been  kind  to  him.  It  was  still  there,  the 
most  beautiful  green  shirt  he  had  ever  beheld  —  not  the 
diluted  green  of  ordinary  pistache  ice-cream,  but  the  deep, 
royal  hue  of  a  glorious  emerald ! 

154 


STOVER    AT    YALE  155 

He  had  once,  in  the  school  days  when  he  was  blossom 
ing  into  a  man  of  fashion,  experienced  a  similar  sensa 
tion  before  a  cravat  of  pigeon-blood  red.  He  peered 
through  the  window  to  see  if  any  one  he  knew  was  pres 
ent,  and  glanced  up  the  street  to  assure  himself  that  a 
mob  was  not  going  to  collect.  Then  he  entered  non 
chalantly.  The  clerk,  who  recognized  him,  greeted  him 
with  ingratiating  unction. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  here,  Mr.  Stover.  What  can  I  do 
for  you  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I'd  look  at  some  shirts,"  he  said,  in  what 
he  believed  a  masterly  haphazard  manner. 

"  White  lawn  —  something  with  a  thin  stripe  ?  " 

"  Well,  something  in  a  color  —  solid  color." 

He  waited  patiently,  considering  solicitously  twenty  in 
consequential  styles,  until  the  spruce  clerk,  casually  pro 
ducing  the  one  thing,  said : 

"Would  that  appeal  to  you?" 

"  It's  rather  nice,"  he  said,  gazing  at  it.  Entranced,  he 
stared  on.  Then  a  new  difficulty  arose.  People  didn't 
enter  a  shop  just  to  purchase  one  shirt,  and,  besides,  he 
was  known.  So  he  selected  three  other  shirts  and  added 
the  beautiful  green  thing  to  them  in  an  unostentatious 
manner,  saying : 

"  Send  around  these  four  shirts,  will  you  ?  What's  the 
tax?" 

"  Very  pleased  to  have  you  open  an  account,  Mr. 
Stover,"  said  the  clerk.  "  Pay  when  you  like." 

Stover  took  this  as  a  personal  tribute  to  his  public  rep 
utation.  Likewise,  it  opened  up  to  him  startling  possibil 
ities,  so  he  said  in  a  bored  way : 

"  I  suppose  I  might  just  as  well." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Stover  —  thank  you  very  much ! 
Anything  more?  Some  rather  tasty  neckties  here  for 


156  STOVER   AT    YALE 

conservative  dressers.  Collars?  Something  like  this 
would  be  very  becoming  to  you.  We've  just  got  in  a 
very  smart  line  of  silk  socks.  All  the  latest  bonton  styles. 
Look  them  over  —  you  don't  need  to  buy  anything." 

When  Stover  finally  was  shown  to  the  door,  he  had 
clandestinely  and  with  great  astuteness  acquired  the  green 
shirt  on  the  following  terms : 

One  green  shirt    (imported) $5 

Three  decoy  shirts 9 

Four  silk  ties  (to  go  with  green  shirt) 8 

One  dozen  Roxburgh  turndown  collars  (to  complete  same) . .     3 

One  dozen  Gladstone  collars   (an  indiscretion) 3 

One  half  dozen  silk  socks  (bonton  style) 12 

Total  for  one  green  shirt $40 

By  the  time  he  had  made  this  mental  calculation  he  was 
half  way  up  the  block.  Then,  his  extravagance  over 
whelming  him,  he  virtuously  determined  to  send  back  the 
Gladstone  collars,  to  show  the  clerk  that,  while  he  was  a 
man  of  fashion,  he  still  had  a  will  of  his  own. 

Refreshed  then  by  this  firm  conscientious  resolve,  he 
went  down  York  Street,  where  he  was  hailed  by  Hunger- 
ford  from  an  upper  story,  and  went  in  to  find  a  small 
group  sitting  in  inspection  of  several  bundles  of  tailoring 
goods  which  were  being  displayed  in  the  center  of  the 
room  by  a  little  bow-legged  Yankee  with  an  open  appeal 
ing  countenance. 

"  I  say,  Dink,  you  ought  to  get  in  on  this,"  said  Hunger- 
ford  at  his  entrance. 

"What's  the  game?" 

"  Here's  a  wonderful  chance.  Little  bright-eyes  here 
has  got  a  lot  of  goods  dirt  cheap  and  he's  giving  us  the 
first  chance.  You  see  it's  this  way:  he  travels  for  a 
firm  and  the  end  of  the  season  he  gets  all  the  samples  for 
himself,  so  he  can  let  them  go  dirt  cheap." 


STOVERATYALE  157 

"  Half  price,"  said  the  salesman  nodding.  "  Half  price 
on  everything." 

"  I've  bought  a  bundle,"  said  Troutman.  "  It's  won 
derful  goods." 

"  How  much?  "  said  Stover,  considering. 

"  Only  twenty  dollars  for  enough  to  make  up  a  suit. 
Twenty's  right,  isn't  it,  Skenk  ?  " 

"  Twenty  for  this  —  twenty-two  for  that.  You  re 
member  I  said  twenty-two." 

"  Let  me  see  the  stuff,"  said  Stover,  as  though  he  had 
been  the  mainstay  of  custom  tailors  all  his  life. 

Now  the  crowd  was  a  New  York  one,  a  little  better 
groomed  than  their  companions,  affecting  the  same  pre 
dilections  for  indiscreet  vests  and  modish  styles  that 
would  make  them  appreciative  of  the  supremacy  of  green 
in  the  haberdashery  arts. 

"  This  is  rather  good  style,"  he  said,  with  a  glance  at 
Troutman's  genteel  trousers.  "  What  sort  of  goods  do 
you  call  it  ?  " 

"  Imported  Scotch  cheviot,"  said  the  salesman  in  a  con 
fidential  whisper. 

Stover  looked  again  at  Troutman,  who  tried  discreetly, 
without  being  seen  by  the  unsuspecting  Yankee,  to  con 
vey  to  him  in  a  look  the  fact  that  it  was  a  crime  to  acquire 
the  goods  at  such  a  price. 

Thus  tipped  off,  Dink  bought  a  roll  that  had  in  it  a 
distinct  reminiscent  tinge  of  green,  and  saw  it  carried  to 
the  house,  for  fear  the  salesman  should  suddenly  repent 
of  the  sacrifice. 

At  half  past  eight  that  night,  as  he  and  Tough  Mc 
Carthy  were  painfully  excavating  a  bit  of  Greek  prose 
for  the  morrow,  McNab  came  rushing  in. 

"  Get  out,  Dopey,  we're  boning,"  said  McCarthy,  reach 
ing  for  a  tennis  racket. 


158  STOVERATYALE 

"  Boys,  the  greatest  bargain  you  ever  heard,"  said  Mc- 
Nab  excitedly,  "  come  in  before  it's  too  late !  " 

"  Bargain  ?  "  said  Stover,  frowning,  for  the  word  was 
beginning  to  cloy. 

McNab,  with  a  show  of  pantomime,  squinted  behind 
the  window  curtains  and  opened  the  closet  door. 

"  Look  here,  Dopey,  you  get  out,"  said  Tough,  wrath- 
fully,  "  you're  faking." 

"  I'm  looking  for  customs  officers,"  said  McNab  mys 
teriously. 

"  What !     I  say,  what's  this  game  ?  " 

"  Boys,  we've  got  a  couple  of  Cuba  libre  dagos  rounded 
up  and  dancing  on  a  string." 

"  For  the  love  of  Mike,  Dopey,  be  intelligible." 

"  It's  cigars,"  said  McNab  at  last. 

"Don't  want  them!" 

"  But  it's  smuggled  cigars !  " 

"  Oh ! " 

"  Wonderful,  pure  Havanas,  priceless,  out  of  a 
museum." 

"  You  don't  say  so." 

"And  all  for  the  cause  of  Cuba  libre.  You're  for 
Cuba  libre,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  Sure  we  are." 

"  Well,  these  men  are  patriots." 

"Who  found  them?" 

"  Buck  Waters.  They  were  just  going  into  Pierson 
Hall  to  let  the  sophs  have  all  the  candy.  Buck  side 
tracked  them  and  started  them  down  our  row.  Hunger- 
ford  bought  twenty-five  dollars'  worth." 

"  Twenty-five  ?     Holy  cats !  " 

"  For  the  ca^use  of  Cuba  libre !  Joe  is  very  patriotic. 
All  the  boys  came  up  handsomely." 

"  Are  they  good  cigars  ? "  said  Dink  who,  since  his 


STOVERATYALE  159 

purchases  of  the  day,  was  not  exactly  moved  to  tears  by 
the  financial  needs  of  an  alien  though  struggling  nation. 

"  My  boy,  immense !     Wait  till  you  smoke  one !  " 

At  this  moment  there  came  a  gentle  scratching  at  the 
door,  and  a  chocolate  pair  appeared,  with  Buck  Waters  in 
the  background. 

"  Emanuel  Garcia  and  Henry  Clay !  "  said  McNab  ir 
reverently. 

"  They  smuggled  the  cigars  right  through  the  Spanish 
lines,"  said  Waters  who,  from  constant  recital,  had  caught 
the  spirit  of  unconquerable  revolution. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  said  McCarthy  suspiciously, 
watching  the  unstrapping  of  the  cigar  boxes. 

"  I  speak  French,"  said  Waters  with  pride,  and  turn 
ing  to  his  proteges  he  continued  fluently,  "  Vous  etes 
patriots,  vous  avez  battles,  soldats  n'est-ce-pas?  You  see, 
they  have  had  a  whole  family  chopped  up  for  the  cause. 
The  Cuban  Junta  has  sent  them  over  to  raise  money  — 
very  good  family." 

"  Let's  see  the  cigars,"  said  Stover.  "  How  much  a 
box?" 

Curiously  enough  this  seemed  to  be  a  phrase  of  Eng 
lish  which  could  be  understood  without  difficulty. 

"  Fourteen  dollar." 

"  That's  for  a  box  of  a  hundred,"  said  McNab,  who 
screwed  up  the  far  side  of  his  face,  to  indicate  bargaining 
was  in  order. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Buck  Waters,  "  everything  you  give 
goes  to  the  cause.  Remember  that." 

"  Try  one,"  said  McNab. 

The  smaller  Cuban  with  an  affable  smile  held  up  a 
bundle. 

"  Nice  white  teeth  he's  got,"  said  Buck  Waters  en 
couragingly. 


160  STOVERATYALE 

"  Don't  let  him  shove  one  over  on  you,"  said  Mc 
Carthy  warningly. 

Waters  and  McNab  were  indignant. 

"  Oh,  I  say  fellows,  come  on.     They  are  patriots." 

"  If  they  could  understand  you  they  would  go  right  up 
in  the  air." 

"  Nevertheless  and  notwithstanding,"  said  McCarthy, 
indicating  with  his  finger,  "  I'll  take  this  one ;  it  appeals 
to  me." 

"  I'll  worry  this  one,"  said  Dink  with  equal  astuteness. 

They  took  several  puffs,  watched  by  the  enthusiastic 
spectators. 

"Well?  "said  McNab. 

Stover  looked  wisely  at  McCarthy,  flirting  the  cigar 
between  his  careless  fingers. 

"  Not  bad." 

"  Rather  good  bouquet,"  said  McCarthy,  who  knew  no 
more  than  Stover. 

"  Let's  begin  at  eight  dollars  and  stick  at  ten,"  said 
Dink. 

At  that  latter  price,  despite  the  openly  expressed  scorn 
of  the  American  allies  of  the  struggle  for  Cuban  in 
dependence,  Stover  received  a  box  of  one  hundred  finest 
Havana  cigars  —  fit  for  a  museum,  as  McNab  repeated  — 
and  saw  the  advance  guard  of  the  liberators  disappear. 

"  Dink,  it's  a  shame,"  said  McCarthy  gleefully. 
"  Finest  cigars  I  ever  smoked." 

They  shook  hands  and  Stover,  overcome  by  the  look 
of  pain  he  had  seen  in  the  eyes  of  the  patriots  on  their 
final  surrender  at  ten  dollars,  said,  with  a  patriotic  re 
morse  : 

"Poor  devils!  Think  what  they're  fighting  for!  If 
I  hadn't  been  so  lavish  to-day,  I'd  have  given  them  the 
full  price." 


STOVERATYALE  161 

"  I  feel  sort  of  bad  about  it  myself." 

About  ten  o'clock  they  rose  by  a  common  impulse  and, 
seeking  out  the  cigars  with  caressing  fingers,  indulged  in 
another  smoke. 

"  Dink,  this  is  certainly  living,"  said  McCarthy,  reclin 
ing  in  that  position  which  his  favorite  magazine  artist 
ascribed  to  men  of  the  world  when  indulging  in  extrav 
agant  desires. 

"  Pretty  high  rolling,  old  geezer." 

"  I  like  this  better  than  the  first  one." 

"  Of  course  with  a  well-seasoned  rare  old  cigar  you 
don't  get  all  the  beauty  of  it  right  at  first." 

"  By  George,  if  those  chocolate  patriots  would  come 
around  again  I'd  give  'em  the  four  plunks." 

"  I  should  feel  like  it,"  said  Dink,  who  made  a  dis 
tinction. 

The  next  morning  being  Sunday,  they  lolled  deliciously 
in  bed,  and  rose  with  difficulty  at  ten. 

"  Of  course  I  don't  believe  in  smoking  before  break 
fast,  as  a  general  rule,"  said  McCarthy  in  striped  red  and 
blue  pajamas,  "  but  I  have  such  a  fond  feeling  for  Cuba." 

"  I  can  hardly  believe  it's  true,"  said  Dink,  emerging 
from  the  covers  like  an  impressionistic  dawn.  "  Smoke 
up." 

"  How  is  it  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Wonderful." 

"  Better  and  better." 

"  I  could  dream  away  my  life  on  it." 

"  We  ought  to  have  bought  more." 

"  Too  bad." 

After  chapel,  while  pursuing  their  studies  in  compara 
tive  literature  in  the  Sunday  newspapers,  they  smoked 
again. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Stover  anxiously. 


162  STOVERATYALE 

"Well?" 

"Marvellous,  isn't  it?" 

"  Exquisite." 

"  Only  ten  cents  apiece !  " 

"  It's  the  way  to  buy  cigars." 

"  Trouble  is,  Dink,  old  highroller,  it's  going  to  be  an 
awful  wrench  getting  down  to  earth  again.  We'll  hate 
anything  ordinary,  anything  cheap." 

"  Yes,  Tough,  we  are  ruining  our  future  happiness." 

"And  how  good  one  of  the  little  beauties  will  taste 
after  that  brutalizing  Sunday  dinner." 

"  I  can  hardly  wait.  By  the  way,  I  blew  myself  to 
a  few  glad  rags,"  said  Dink,  bringing  out  his  purchases, 
"  I  rather  fancy  them.  How  do  they  strike  you  ?  " 

McCarthy  emitted  a  languishing  whistle  and  then  his 
eyes  fell  on  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble. 

"  Keeroogalum !     Where  did  you  get  the  pea-soup  ?  " 

The  expression  did  not  please.  However,  Stover  had 
still  in  the  matter  of  his  sentimental  inclinations  a  cer 
tain  bashf  ulness.  So  he  said  dishonestly : 

"  I  had  'em  throw  it  in  for  a  lark." 

"  Why,  the  cows  would  leave  the  farm." 

"  Rats.  Wait  and  see,"  said  Dink,  who  seized  the 
excuse  to  don  the  green  shirt. 

When  Stover's  blond  locks  were  seen  struggling 
through  the  collar  McCarthy  exploded: 

"  It  looks  like  you  were  coming  out  of  a  tree.  What 
the  deuce  has  happened  to  you  ?  Are  you  going  out  for 
class  beauty  ?  Holy  cats !  the  socks,  the  socks  !  " 

"  The  socks,  you  Reuben,  should  match  the  shirt,"  said 
Stover,  completing  his  toilet  under  a  diplomatic  assump 
tion  of  persiflage. 

"  Well,  you  are  a  lovely  thing,"  said  McCarthy,  when 
the  new  collar  and  the  selected  necktie  had  transformed 


STOVERATYALE  163 

Stover.  "  Lovely !  lovely !  you  should  go  out  and  have 
the  girls  fondle  you." 

At  this  moment  Bob  Story  arrived,  as  fate  would  have 
it,  with  an  invitation  to  dinner  at  his  home. 

"  Sis  is  back  with  a  few  charmers  from  Farmington 
and  they're  crazy  to  meet  you." 

"  Oh,  I  say,"  said  Stover  in  sudden  alarm.  "  I'm  the 
limit  on  the  fussing  question." 

"  Yes,  he  is,"  said  McCarthy  maliciously.  "  Why,  they 
fall  down  before  him  and  beg  him  to  step  on  them." 

"  You  shut  up,"  said  Stover,  with  wrath  in  his  eye. 

"  Why,  Bob,  look  at  him,  isn't  he  gotten  up  just  to 
charm  and  delight?  You'll  have  to  put  a  fence  around 
him  to  keep  them  off." 

"  In  an  hour,"  said  Story,  making  for  the  door. 
"  Hunter  and  Hungerford  are  coming." 

"  Hold  up." 

"  Delighted  you're  coming." 

"I  say—" 

"  There's  a  Miss  Sparkes  —  just  crazy  about  you. 
You're  in  luck.  Remember  the  name  —  Miss  Sparkes." 

"  Story  —  Bob,  come  back  here !  " 

"  Au  reservoir !  " 

"  I  can't  go  —  I  won't  — "  But  here  Dink,  leaning  over 
the  banister,  heard  a  gleeful  laugh  float  up  and  the  sudden 
banging  of  the  door. 

He  rushed  back  frantically  to  the  room  and  craned  out 
the  window,  to  see  Bob  Story  sliding  around  the  corner 
with  his  fingers  spread  in  a  gesture  that  is  never  any 
thing  but  insulting.  He  closed  the  window  violently  and 
returned  to  the  center  of  the  room. 

"  Damn ! " 

"  Pooh !  "  said  McCarthy,  chuckling  with  delight. 

"  Petticoats ! " 


164  STOVERATYALE 

"Alas!" 

"  A  lot  of  silly,  yapping,  gushing,  fluffy,  giggling,  tee- 
heeing,  tittering,  languishing,  vapid,  useless  — " 

"  My  boy,  immense !     Go  on !  " 

"  Confound  Bob  Story,  why  the  deuce  did  he  rope  me 
into  this?     I  loathe  females." 

"  And  one  just  dotes  on  you,"  said  McCarthy,  with  the 
expression  of  a  Cheshire  cat. 

"  I  won't  go,"  said  Stover  loudly. 

"  Are  you  going  in  that  green  symphony  ?  " 

"Why  not?" 

In  the  midst  of  this  quarrel,  Joe  Hunger  ford  entered, 
with  a  solemn  face. 

"  You're  going  to  this  massacre  at  Story's  ?  " 

"  Don't  I  look  like  it?  "  said  Dink  crossly. 

"  We'll  go  over  together  then,"  said  Hungerford,  with 
a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  I  say,  help  yourself  to  a  cigar,  Joe,"  said  McCarthy, 
with  the  air  of  a  Maecenas. 

"  Cuba  Libre?  "  said  Hungerford,  approaching  the  box. 

"And  a  bas  Spain!" 

Hungerford  examined  the  cigars  with  a  certain  amount 
of  caution  which  was  not  lost  on  the  room-mates. 

"  How  many  of  these  have  you  smoked  ?  "  he  asked, 
turning  to  them  with  interest. 

"  Oh,  about  three  apiece.'* 

"How  do  you  like 'em?" 

"  Wonderful !  "  said  Dink  loudly. 

"  Wonderful !  "  said  McCarthy. 

The  three  lit  up  simultaneously. 

"  What  did  you  pay  for  yours  ?  "  said  Hungerford,  with 
a  sort  of  inward  concentration  on  the  flavor. 

"  Ten  bright  silver  ones." 

"  I  paid  twenty-five  for  two.     How  do  they  taste  ?  " 


STOVER    AT    YALE  165 

"Wonderful!" 

"  Troutman  only  paid  seven-fifty  for  his  box." 

"What!" 

"  And  Hunter  only  five." 

"  Five  dollars  ?  "  said  McCarthy,  with  a  foreboding. 

"  But  what  I  can't  understand  is  this  — " 

"What?" 

"  Dopey  McNab  got  a  box  at  two-fifty." 

A  sudden  silence  fell  on  the  room,  while,  reflectively, 
each  puffed  forth  quick,  questioning  volumes  of  smoke. 

"  How  do  they  smoke  ?  "  said  Hungerf ord  again. 

"  Wonderful !  "  said  McCarthy,  hoping  against  hope. 

"  They're  not !  "  said  Dink  firmly. 

He  rose,  went  to  the  window,  and  cast  forth  the 
malodorous  thing.  Hungerford  followed  suit.  Mc 
Carthy,  proud  as  the  Old  Guard,  sat  smoking  on;  only 
one  leg  was  drawn  up  under  the  other  in  a  tense,  con 
vulsive  way. 

"  They  were  wonderful  last  night,"  he  said  obstinately. 

"  They  certainly  were." 

"  And  they  were  wonderful  this  morning." 

"  Not  quite  so  wonderful." 

"  I  like  'em  still." 

"  And  Dopey  McNab  bought  a  hundred  at  two-fifty." 

This  was  too  much  for  McCarthy.     He  surrendered. 

Dopey  McNab,  at  this  favorable  conjunction,  sidled  into 
the  room  with  his  box  under  his  arm  and  the  face  of 
a  boy  soprano  on  duty. 

"  I  say,  fellows,  I've  got  a  little  proposition  to  make." 

A  sort  of  dull,  rolling  murmur  went  around  the  room 
which  he  did  not  notice. 

"  I  find  I've  been  cracking  my  bank  account  —  the  fact 
is,  I'm  strapped  as  a  mule  and  have  got  to  raise  enough 
to  pay  my  wash  bill." 


166  STOVER    AT    YALE 

"Wash  bill,  Dopey?"  said  McCarthy  softly. 

"  We  must  wash,"  said  Dopey  firmly.  "  To  resume. 
As  I  detest,  abhor,  and  likewise  shrink  from  borrowing 
from  friends — " 

"  Repeat  that,"  said  Joe  Hungerford. 

"  I  will  not.  But  for  all  of  which  reasons,  I  have  a 
little  bargain  to  propose.  Here  is  a  box  of  the  finest 
cigars  ever  struck  the  place." 

"A  full  box?" 

"  Only  three  cigars  out." 

"  Three !  "  said  Hungerford  with  a  significant  look  at 
Stover. 

"  I  could  sell  them  on  the  campus  for  twenty,  easy." 

"  But  you  love  your  friends,"  said  Stover,  moving  a 
little,  so  as  to  shut  off  the  retreat. 

"  Who  will  give  me  seven-fifty  for  it  ?  "  said  McNab, 
with  the  air  of  one  filling  a  beggar  with  ecstasy. 

"  Seven-fifty.  You'll  let  it  go  at  seven-fifty,  Dopey?  " 
said  McCarthy  faintly,  paralyzed  at  such  duplicity. 

"  I  will." 

"  Dopey,"  said  Dink,  with  a  signal  to  the  others,  "  what 
is  the  exact  figure  of  that  wash  bill  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Two  dollars  and  sixty-two  cents." 

"  Will  you  take  two  dollars  and  sixty-two  cents  for 
it?" 

"  You're  fooling." 

"  I  am  very,  very  serious." 

McNab  struck  a  pose,  while  over  his  face  was  seen 
the  conflict  of  duty  and  avarice. 

"  Take  it,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a  glow  of  virtue. 

"  I  didn't  say  I  wanted  it." 

"  You  didn't !  " 

"  I  only  wanted  to  know  what  you'd  really  take." 

"  What's  this  mean  ?  "  said  McNab  indignantly. 


STOVER    AT    YALE  167 

"Dopey,  would  you  sacrifice  it  at  just  a  little  less?" 
said  Hungerford. 

But  here  McNab,  suddenly  smelling  danger  in  the  air, 
made  a  spring  backwards.  Hungerford,  who  was  on 
guard,  caught  him. 

"  Put  him  in  the  chair  and  tie  him,"  said  Stover,  sav 
agely.  ^ 

Which  was  done. 

"  I  say,  look  here,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  ?  " 
said  McNab,  fiercely. 

"  You're  going  to  sit  there  and  smoke  a  couple  of  those 
museum  cigars,  for  our  delectation  and  amusement." 

"  Assassins ! " 

"  Two  cigars." 

"  Never !     I'll  starve  to  death  first !  " 

"  All  right.     Keep  on  sitting  there." 

"  But  this  is  a  crime !     Police !  " 

"  There  are  other  crimes,  Dopey." 

"  Hold  up,"  said  McNab,  frantically,  as  he  perceived 
the  cigar  being  prepared.  "  I've  got  to  dine  over  at  the 
Story's  at  one  o'clock." 

"  So  have  we,"  said  Hungerford,  "  but  McCarthy  will 
watch  you  for  us." 

"  I  will,"  said  McCarthy,  licking  his  chops. 

"  I've  got  to  be  there,"  said  McNab,  wriggling  in  a 
frenzy. 

"  Smoke  right  up,  then.  You  can  smoke  them  in  twenty 
minutes." 

"  Police ! " 

"  I  say,  Dink,"  said  Hungerford,  as  McNab's  head 
whipped  from  side  to  side  like  a  recalcitrant  child's. 
"  Perhaps  we'd  better  get  in  all  the  crowd  who  fell  for 
the  cigars  —  round  'em  up." 

"  I'll  smoke  it,"  said  McNab  instantly. 


168  STOVERATYALE 

"  I  thought  you  would." 

They  sat  around,  unfeelingly,  grinning,  while  McNab, 
strapped  in  like  a  papoose,  rebelliously,  with  much  sput 
tering  and  coughing,  smoked  the  cigar  that  Dink  fed  him 
like  a  trained  nurse. 

"  Fellows,  I've  got  to  get  to  that  dinner." 

"  We  know  that,  Dopey  —  but  there's  one  thing  you 
won't  do  there  —  tell  the  story  of  the  Cuba  libre  cigar." 

"  Say,  let  me  off  and  I'll  put  you  on  to  a  great  stunt." 

"  We  can't  be  bought." 

"  I'll  tell  you,  I'll  trust  you !  We're  going  to  have  a 
cop-killing  over  in  Freshman  row.  We've  got  a  whole 
depot  of  Roman  candles.  Let  me  off  this  second  cigar 
and  I'll  work  you  in." 

"We'll  be  there!" 

"  You  bandits,  I'll  get  even  with  you." 

"  You  probably  will,  Dopey,  but  you'll  never  rob  us  of 
this  memory." 

"  Curse  you,  feed  it  to  me  quickly." 

The  cigar  consumed  to  the  last  rebellious  puff,  McNab 
was  released  in  a  terrific  humor,  and  departed  hastily  to 
dress,  after  remarking  in  a  deadly  manner : 

"  I'll  get  you  yet  —  you  brutal  kidnappers." 

"  I  think  it's  a  rather  low  trick  of  Bob  Story's,"  said 
Stover,  considering  surreptitiously  in  the  mirror  the 
effect  of  his  new  color  scheme. 

"  Ditto  here,"  said  Hungerford. 

Now  Stover  was  in  a  quandary.  He  was  divided  be 
tween  two  emotions.  He  firmly  thought  that  he  had 
never  looked  so  transcendingly  the  perfect  man  of  fashion, 
but  he  had  numerous  busy  doubts  as  to  whether  the 
exquisite  costume  was  as  appropriate  at  a  quiet  Sunday 
dinner  as  it  undoubtedly  would  have  been  in  a  sporting 
audience.  Still,  to  make  a  change  now,  under  the  mali- 


STOVER    AT    YALE  169 

cious  inspection  of  Tough  McCarthy,  would  be  to  invite 
a  storm  of  joyful  ridicule,  so  he  said  hopefully : 

"  Think  it  all  right  to  go  in  this?  " 

"Why  not?" 

As  this  put  the  burden  of  the  proof  on  him,  Stover 
remained  silent,  but  compromised  a  little  by  exchanging  a 
rather  forward  vest  for  one  of  calmer  aspect. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  at  last,  with  something  between  a 
gulp  and  a  sigh,  "  I  suppose  we'd  better  push  along." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Hungerford,  who  brought  a 
strangle  hold  to  bear  on  his  necktie  and  shot  a  last  look 
down  at  the  slightly  wavering  line  of  his  trousers. 

At  the  door,  the  vision  of  McNab,  like  a  visiting  Eng 
lish  duke,  bore  down  upon  them. 

"  Where  in  the  thunder  did  you  get  the  boutonniere  ?  " 
said  Stover,  examining  him  critically. 

"  Why,  Dopey,  you're  a  dude !  "  said  Hungerford  disap 
provingly. 

"  Everything  is  correct  —  brilliant,  but  correct,"  said 
McNab  with  a  flip  of  his  ringers.  "  Come  on  now  — 
we're  late." 

Half  way  there,  when  the  conversation  had  completely 
fizzled  out,  McNab  said  cheerily : 

"How  d'ye  feel?  Getting  a  little  nervous,  eh?  Get 
ting  cold  feelings  up  and  down  your  back?  Fingers 
twitching  —  what  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  an  ass,"  said  Hungerford  huskily. 

"  Chump,"  said  Stover,  feeling  all  at  once  the  tightness 
of  his  vest. 

"  'Course  you  know,  boys,  you're  dressed  all  wrong  — 
in  shocking  taste.  You  know  that,  don't  you  ?  Thought 
I'd  better  tell  you  before  the  girls  begin  giggling  at 
you." 

"  Huh ! " 


170  STOVER   AT    YALE 

"Joe's  bad  enough  in  a  liver-colored  sack,  but  Dink's 
unspeakable ! " 

"I  am!     What's  wrong?" 

"  Fancy  wearing  a  colored  shirt  —  and  such  a  color ! 
You're  gotten  up  for  a  boating  party  —  not  for  a  formal 
lunch.  You're  unspeakable,  Dink,  unspeakable!  Look 
at  me.  I'm  a  delight  —  black  and  white,  immaculate,  im 
pressive,  and  absolutely  correct." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  steps. 

"  Now,  don't  try  to  shine  your  shoes  on  your  trousers. 
It  always  shows.  Don't  stumble  or  trip  when  you  go  in. 
Don't  bump  against  the  furniture.  Don't  stutter.  Don't 
hold  on  to  your  hostess  to  keep  from  falling  over.  And 
don't,  don't  shoot  your  cuffs." 

McNab's  malicious  advice  reduced  Hungerford  to  a 
panic,  while  only  the  consciousness  of  his  public  im 
portance  prevented  Stover  from  bolting  as  he  saw  McNab 
press  the  button. 

"  Stand  up  straight  and  keep  your  hands  out  of  your 
pockets." 

"  Dopey,  I'll  wring  your  neck  if  you  don't  stop !  " 

"  Ditto." 

"  Say  something  interesting  to  every  girl,"  continued 
McNab,  in  a  solemn  whisper.  "  Talk  about  art  or  litera 
ture." 

The  door  opened,  and  they  stumbled  into  the  ante 
room,  from  which  escape  was  impossible. 

"  Dink,"  said  McNab  in  a  last  whisper. 

"What?" 

"  Don't  ask  twice  for  soup,  and  stop  shooting  that  cuff." 

The  next  moment  Stover,  who  had  been  thrust  forward 
by  the  other  two,  found  himself  crossing  the  perilous 
track  of  slippery  rugs  on  slippery  floors,  and  suddenly 
the  cynosure  of  at  least  a  hundred  eyes. 


STOVER    AT    YALE  171 

Judge  Story  had  him  by  the  hand,  patting  him  on  the 
back,  smiling  up  at  him  with  a  smile  he  never  forgot  — 
a  little  lithe  man  bristling  with  good  humor  and  the  genius 
of  good  cheer. 

"  Stover,  I'm  glad  to  shake  your  hand.  We  did  all  we 
could  for  you  in  those  last  rushes.  We  rooted  hard.  My 
wife  assaulted  a  clergyman  in  front  of  her,  and  my  daugh 
ter  was  found  afterward  weeping  with  her  arms  around 
the  man  next  to  her.  I  certainly  am  proud  to  shake  your 
hand.  I  won't  shake  it  too  long,  because  " —  here  he 
looked  up  in  a  confidential  whisper  — "  because  the  girls 
have  been  fidgeting  at  the  window  for  an  hour.  Look 
them  over  and  tell  me  which  one  you  want  to  sit  next 
to  you,  and  I'll  fix  it." 

"  Dad,  aren't  you  awful  ?  "  said  a  voice  in  only  laughing 
disapproval. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  the  judge,  passing  joyfully  on  to 
Hungerford. 

"  Indeed,  I'm  very  glad  to  meet  you." 

He  shook  hands,  a  trifle  embarrassed,  with  a  young 
lady  of  quiet  self-possession,  gentle  in  voice  and  action, 
with  somewhat  of  the  thoughtful  reserve  of  her  brother. 

He  followed  her,  only  half  conscious  of  a  certain  float 
ing  grace  and  the  pleasure  of  following  her  movements, 
bowing  with  cataleptic  bobs  of  his  head  as  the  introduc 
tions  ran  on : 

"  Miss  Sparkes." 

"  Miss  Green." 

"  Miss  Woostelle." 

"  Miss  Raymond." 

Then  he  straightened  and  allowed  his  chin  to  right  itself 
over  the  brink  of  his  mounting  collar,  smiling,  but  with 
out  hearing  the  outburst  that  went  up  from  the  equally 
agitated  sex: 


172  STOVER   AT    YALE 

"  Isn't  the  Judge  perfectly  terrible !  " 

"  You  mustn't  believe  a  word  he  says." 

"  Don't  you  think  he's  lovely,  though  ?  " 

"  We  really  were  so  excited  at  the  game." 

"  Oh,  dear,  I  almost  cried  my  eyes  out." 

"  We  thought  you  were  perfectly  splendid." 

"  We  did  want  you  to  score  so." 

"  I  just  hated  those  Princeton  men,  they  were  so  much 
bigger." 

Hungerford  and  McNab  coming  up  for  presentation, 
he  found  himself  a  little  to  leeward,  clinging  to  a  chair, 
and,  opening  his  eyes,  perceived  for  the  first  time  Hunter, 
with  whom  he  shook  hands  with  the  convulsiveness  of  a 
death  grip. 

Miss  Sparkes,  a  rather  fluttering  brunette  with  dimples 
and  enthusiastic  eyes,  cut  off  his  retreat  and  isolated  him 
in  a  corner,  where  he  was  forced  to  listen  to  a  disquisition 
on  the  theory  of  football,  supremely  conscious  that  the 
unforgiving  McNab  was  making  him  a  subject  of  conver 
sation  with  the  young  lady  to  whom  he  was  rapidly  suc 
cumbing. 

The  entrance  of  Mrs.  Story  and  Bob,  and  the  welcome 
descent  on  the  dining-room,  for  a  moment  made  him 
forget  the  awful  fact  that  he  had  perceived,  on  his  en 
trance,  that  the  green  shirt  was,  in  fact,  nothing  short  of 
a  social  outrage. 

"  Every  one  sitting  next  to  the  person  they  want,"  said 
the  Judge  roguishly,  his  glance  rolling  around  the  table. 
"  By  George,  if  that  body-snatcher  of  a  Miss  Sparkes 
hasn't  bagged  Stover  —  well,  I  never!  Seems  to  me  a 
certain  party  named  Hungerford  has  done  very  well 
indeed.  McNab,  I  perceive,  is  going  to  set  the  fashions 
for  the  class,  but  I  certainly  do  like  Stover's  green  shirt." 

At  this  a  shout  went  up,  and  Stover's  ears  began  to  boil. 


STOVER    AT    YALE  173 

"  I  don't  see  what  you're  ha-ha-ing  about,  Mr.  McNab," 
continued  the  Judge,  diverting  the  attack,  "  descending 
upon  us,  a  quiet,  respectable  back-woods  family,  with  a 
boutonniere!  I  think  that's  putting  on  a  good  deal  of 
airs,  don't  you  ?  Now,  boys,  don't  let  these  young  society 
ladies  from  Farmington  pretend  they're  too  delicate  to  eat. 
You  ought  to  see  the  breakfast  they  devoured.  Every 
body  happy  all  right." 

In  five  minutes  all  were  at  ease,  chattering  away 
like  so  many  magpies.  Stover,  finding  that  his  breath 
came  easier-,  recovered  himself  and  listened  with  a  tol 
erant  sense  of  pleasure  while  Miss  Sparkes  rushed  on. 

"  The  girls  up  at  Farmington  will  be  so  excited  when 
they  hear  I've  actually  sat  next  to  you  at  the  table.  You 
know,  we're  all  just  crazy  about  football.  Oh,  it  gets  me 
so  excited!  Dudley's  the  new  captain,  isn't  he?  I  met 
him  last  summer  at  a  dance  down  at  Long  Island.  I 
admire  him  tremendously,  don't  you?  He  has  such  a 
strong  character." 

He  nodded  from  time  to  time,  replied  in  dignified  mono 
syllables,  and  became  pleasurably  aware  that  Miss  Ray 
mond,  opposite,  in  disloyalty  to  her  companion,  had  one 
ear  trained  to  catch  his  slightest  word,  while  Miss  Green 
and  Miss  Woostelle,  farther  away,  watched  him  covertly 
over  the  foliage  of  the  celery.  He  was  a  lion  among 
ladies  for  the  first  time  —  a  sensation  he  had  sworn  to 
loathe  and  detest ;  and  yet  there  was  in  him  a  sort  of  warm 
growing  feeling  that  he  could  not  explain  but  that  was 
quite  far  from  unpleasant. 

"If  Miss  Sparkes,  Mr.  Stover,  will  stop  whispering  in 
your  ear  for  just  a  moment,"  said  the  Judge,  on  mischief 
bent,  "you  can  help  Mrs.  Story  with  the  beef." 

"  You'll  get  accustomed  to  him  soon,"  said  his  hostess, 
smiling.  "  There,  if  you'll  steady  the  platter  I  think  we 


174  STOVER    AT    YALE 

two  can  manage  it.  I  am  so  glad  to  have  you  here.  Bob 
has  spoken  of  you  so  often.  I  hope  you'll  be  good 
friends." 

There  was  something  leonine  and  yet  very  feminine  in 
her  face,  a  quiet  and  restfulness  that  drew  him  irresistibly 
to  her  and  gave  him  the  secret  of  the  reserve  and  charm 
that  was  in  her  children. 

Of  all  the  delegation  from  school,  Jean  Story  alone  had 
not  seemed  aware  of  his  imposing  stature.  She  was  sit 
ting  between  Hungerford  and  Hunter,  whom  she  called 
by  his  first  name,  and  her  way  of  speaking,  unlike  the 
impulsiveness  of  her  companions,  was  measured  and 
thoughtful.  She  had  a  quantity  of  ash-colored  hair 
which,  like  her  dress,  seemed  to  be  floating  about  Jier. 
Her  forehead  was  clear,  a  little  serious,  and  her  eyes, 
while  devoid  of  coquetry,  held  him  with  their  directness 
and  simplicity.  y»*  «.ut  A&t*  *kt  ^»  d*»»\ 

He  found  himself  only  half  hearing  the  conversation 
that  Miss  Sparkes  rolled  into  his  ear,  watching  the  move 
ments  of  other  hands,  feeling  a  little  antagonism  to  Hunter 
and  wondering  how  long  they  had  known  each  other. 

Dinner  over,  he  forgot  his  shyness,  and  went  up  to  her 
with  the  quick  direction  which  was  impulsive  in  him  when 
he  was  strongly  interested. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  he  said. 

"Yes?" 

She  looked  at  him,  a  little  surprised  at  the  bluntness 
of  his  introduction,  but  not  displeased. 

"  You  are  very  like  your  brother,"  he  said.  She  seemed 
younger  than  he  had  thought. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  she  answered,  with  a  genuine 
smile.  "  Bob  and  I  are  old  friends." 

"  I  hope  you'll  be  my  friend,"  he  said. 


STOVERATYALE  175 

She  turned,  and  then,  seeing  in  his  face  only  sincerity, 
nodded  her  head  slightly  and  said : 

"  Thank  you." 

He  said  very  little  more,  ill  at  ease,  a  feeling  that  also 
seemed  to  have  gained  possession  of  her. 

Miss  Raymond  and  Miss  Woostelle  came  up,  and  he 
found  himself  restored  to  the  role  of  a  hero,  a  little  piqued 
at  Miss  Story's  different  attitude,  always  aware  of  her 
movements,  hearing  her  low  voice  through  all  the  chatter 
of  the  room. 

He  went  home  very  thoughtful,  keeping  out  of  the 
laughing  discussion  that  went  on,  watching  from  the  cor 
ner  of  his  eye  Hunter,  and  wondering  with  a  little  unex 
plained  resentment  just  how  well  he  knew  the  Storys. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WITH  Stover's  return  after  the  Christmas  vacation 
the  full  significance  of  the  society  dominion  burst 
over  him.  The  night  that  the  hold-offs  were  to  be  given, 
there  was  a  little  joking  at  the  club  table,  but  it  was  only 
lip-deep.  The  crisis  was  too  vital.  Chris  Schley  and 
Troutman,  who  were  none  too  confident,  were  plainly 
nervous. 

Stover  and  McCarthy  walked  home  directly  to  their 
rooms,  and  took  up  the  next  day's  lessons  as  a  convenient 
method  of  killing  time. 

"  You're  not  worrying?  "  said  Stover  suddenly. 

McCarthy  put  down  the  penitential  book,  and,  rising, 
stretched  himself,  nervously  resorting  to  his  pipe. 

"  Not  for  a  hold-off  —  no.     That  ought  to  be  all  right." 

"And  afterward?" 

"  Don't  speak  about  it." 

"  Rats !     You'll  be  pledged  about  the  eighth  or  tenth." 

"  What  time  is  it?  "  said  McCarthy  shortly. 

"  Five  minutes  more." 

This  time  each  took  up  his  book  in  order  to  be  found 
in  an  inconsequential  attitude,  outwardly  indifferent,  as 
all  Anglo-Saxons  should  be.  From  without,  the  hour 
rang  its  dull,  leaden,  measured  tones.  Almost  immedi 
ately  a  knock  sounded  on  the  door,  and  Le  Baron  ap 
peared,  hurried,  businesslike,  mysterious,  saying: 

"  Stover,  want  to  see  you  in  the  other  room  a  moment." 

Dink  retired  with"  him  into  the  bedroom,  and  received 
his  hold-off  in  a  few  matter-of-fact  sentences.  A  second 

176 


STOVERATYALE  177 

after,  Le  Baron  was  out  of  the  door,  rushing  down  the 
steps. 

"  Your  turn  next,"  said  Stover,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand 
to  McCarthy. 

"  Yes." 

The  sound  of  hurrying  feet  and  the  shudder  of  hastily 
banged  doors  filled  the  house. 

"  My,  they're  having  a  busy  time  of  it,"  said  Stover. 

"  Yes." 

Ten  minutes  passed.  McCarthy,  staring  at  his  page, 
mechanically  took  up  the  dictionary,  hiding  the  fear  that 
started  up.  Stover  rose,  going  to  the  window. 

"  They're  running  around  Pierson  Hall  like  a  lot  of 
ants,"  he  said,  drumming  against  the  window. 

"  How  far's  this  advance  go?  "  said  McCarthy  in  a  mat 
ter-of-fact  tone. 

"  End  of  page  152,"  said  Stover.  He  came  back  frown 
ing,  glancing  at  the  clock.  It  was  seventeen  minutes  after 
the  hour. 

All  at  once,  outside,  came  a  clatter  of  feet,  and  the  door 
opened  on  Waring,  out  of  breath  and  flustered. 

"  McCarthy,  like  to  see  you  a  moment." 

Stover  returned  to  the  window,  gazing  out.  Presently 
behind  his  back  he  heard  the  two  return,  the  door  bang, 
and  McCarthy's  voice  saying: 

"  It's  all  right,  Dink." 

"  All  right  ?"  he  said. 

"  Yes." 

"  Glad  of  it." 

"  He  gave  me  a  little  scare,  though." 

"  Your  crowd  lost  a  couple  of  men ;  besides,  you  give 
more  hold-offs." 

"  That's  it." 

They  abandoned  the  subject  by  mutual  consent;  only 


178  STOVER   AT    YALE 

Stover  remembered  for  months  after  the  tension  he  had 
felt  and  the  tugging  at  the  heart-strings.  If  he  could  feel 
that  way  for  his  friend,  what  would  be  his  sensations 
when  he  faced  his  own  crisis  on  Tap  Day? 

Fellows  from  other  houses  came  thronging  in  with 
reports  of  how  the  class  had  divided  up.  Every  one  had 
his  own  list  of  the  hold-offs,  completing  it  according  to  the- 
last  returns,  amid  a  bedlam  of  questions. 

"How  did  Story  go?" 

"  Did  Schley  get  a  hold-off?  " 

"  Yes,  but  Troutman  didn't." 

"  He  did,  too." 

"When?" 

"  Half  an  hour  late." 

"  Brockhurst  got  one." 

"You  don't  say  so!" 

"  Gimbel  get  anythin'  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Regan?" 

"  Don't  know." 

"  Any  one  know  about  Regan?  " 

"  No." 

"  How  about  Buck  Waters?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     I  think  not." 

"  Damned  shame." 

"What,  is  Buck  left  out?" 

"  'Fraid  so." 

"What's  wrong?" 

"  Too  much  sense  of  humor." 

Stover,  off  at  one  side,  watched  the  group,  seeing  the 
interested  calculation  as  each  scanned  his  own  list,  won 
dering  who  would  have  to  be  eliminated  if  he  were  to  be 
chosen.  Story,  Tommy  Bain,  and  Hunter  were  in  his 
crowd,  as  he  had  foreseen. 


STOVER   AT    YALE  179 

He  went  out  and  across  the  campus  to  South  Middle, 
where  Regan  was  now  rooming.  By  the  Coop  he  found 
Bob  Story,  and  together  they  went  up  the  creaky  stairs. 
Regan  was  out  —  just  where,  the  man  who  roomed  on  his 
entry  did  not  know. 

"  How  long  has  he  been  out  ?  "  said  Story  anxiously. 

"  Ever  since  supper." 

"Didn't  he  come  in  at  all?" 

"  No." 

"  Were  they  going  to  give  him  a  hold-off  ?  "  said  Stover, 
as  they  went  down. 

"  Yes.     They've  been  looking  everywhere  for  him." 

"  I  don't  think  the  old  boy  would  take  it." 

"  Can't  you  make  him  see  what  it  would  mean  to  him  ?  " 

"  I've  tried." 

"  I'm  afraid  Regan's  queered  himself  with  a  lot  of  our 
crowd,"  said  Story  thoughtfully.  "  They  don't  under 
stand  him  and  he  doesn't  want  to  understand  them. 
Didn't  he  know  this  was  the  night  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  told  him." 

"  Stayed  away  on  purpose  ?  " 

"  Probably." 

"  Too  bad.  He's  just  the  sort  of  man  we  ought  to 
have." 

"  How  do  you  feel  about  the  whole  proposition?  "  said 
Stover  curiously. 

"  The  sophomore  society  question  ?  "  said  Story  frankly. 
"  Why,  I  think  there've  got  to  be  some  reforms  made ; 
they  ought  to  be  kept  more  democratic." 

"You  think  that?" 

"  Yes ;  I  think  we  want  to  keep  away  a  good  deal  from 
the  social  admiration  game  —  be  representative  of  the 
real  things  in  Yale  life;  that's  why  we  need  a  man  like 
Regan.  Course,  I  think  this  —  that  we've  all  got  too 


180  STOVER   AT    YALE 

much  this  society  idea  in  our  heads ;  but,  since  they  exist 
it's  better  to  do  what  we  can  to  make  them  representative 
and  not  snobbish." 

Stover  was  surprised  at  the  maturity  of  judgment  in 
the  young  fellow,  as  well  as  his  simplicity  of  expression. 
He  would  have  liked  to  talk  to  him  further  on  deeper 
subjects,  but,  as  always,  the  first  steps  were  difficult  and 
as  yet  he  accepted  things  without  a  clear  understanding 
of  reasons. 

He  went  up  with  Story  for  a  little  chat.  There  was 
about  the  room  a  tone  of  quiet  good  taste  and  thoughtful- 
ness  quite  different  from  the  boyish  exuberance  of  other 
rooms.  The  pictures  were  Braunotypes  of  paintings  he 
did  not  know,  while  bits  of  plaster  casts  mellowed  with 
wax  enlivened  the  serried  contents  of  the  book-shelves. 

ft  You've  got  a  lot  of  books,"  said  Stover,  feeling  his 
way. 

"  Yes.  Drop  in  and  borrow  them  any  time  you 
want." 

While  Story  flung  a  couple  of  cushions  on  the  state 
arm-chair  and  brought  out  the  tobacco,  Dink  examined 
the  shelves  respectfully,  surprised  and  impressed  by  the 
quality  of  the  titles,  French,  German,  and  Russian. 

"  Why  do  you  room  alone,  Bob  ?  "  he  said,  with  some 
curiosity,  knowing  Story's  popularity. 

"  I  wanted  to."  Story  was  opposite,  his  face  blocked 
out  in  sudden  shadows  from  the  standing  lamp,  that 
accentuated  a  certain  wistful,  pensive  quality  it  had.  "  I 
enjoy  being  by  myself.  It  gives  me  time  to  think  and 
look  around  me." 

"  Are  you  going  out  for  anything?  "  said  Stover,  won 
dering  a  little  at  the  impression  Story  had  made  already, 
through  nothing  but  the  charm  and  sincerity  of  his  char 
acter. 


STOVERATYALE  181 

"  Yes,  I'm  going  out  for  tfie  News  next  month,  and 
besides  I'm  heeling  the  Lit." 

"  Oh,  you  are  ?  "  said  Stover,  surprised. 

"  But  it  comes  hard,"  said  Story,  with  a  grimace.  "  I 
have  to  work  like  sin  over  every  line.  It's  all  hammered 
out.  Brockhurst  is  the  fellow  who  can  do  the  stuff." 

"  Do  you  know  him  at  all  ?  " 

"  He  won't  let  any  one  know  him.  I've  tried.  I  don't 
think  he  quite  knows  yet  how  to  meet  fellows.  I'm  sorry. 
He  really  interests  me." 

"  That's  a  good  photo  of  your  sister,"  said  Stover,  who 
had  held  the  question  in  leash  ever  since  his  entrance. 

"  So,  so." 

"  How  much  longer  has  she  at  Farmington  ?  " 

"  Last  year." 

"  Going  abroad  afterwards  ?  "  said  Stover  carelessly. 

"  No,  indeed.     Stay  right  here." 

"  I  like  her,"  said  Stover.  "  It's  quite  a  privilege  to 
know  her." 

Story  looked  up  and  a  pleased  smile  came  to  him. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  he  said. 

"  Bob,  what  do  you  think  about  McCarthy's  chances  ?  " 

Story  considered  a  moment. 

"  Only  fair,"  he  said. 

"  Why,  what's  wrong  with  him  ?  " 

"  He  hasn't  any  one  ahead  pulling  for  him,"  said  Story, 
"  and  most  of  the  other  fellows  have.  That's  one  fault 
we  have." 

"  It  would  knock  him  out  to  miss." 

"  It  is  tough." 

They  spoke  a  little  more  in  a  desultory  way,  and  Stover 
left.  He  was  dissatisfied.  He  wanted  Story  to  like  him, 
conscious  of  a  new  longing  in  himself  for  the  friendships 
that  did  not  come,  and  yet  somehow  he  could  find  no  com- 


182  STOVERATYALE 

mon  ground  of  conversation.  Moreover,  and  he  rather 
resented  it,  there  was  not  in  Story  the  least  trace  of  the 
admiration  and  reverence  that  he  was  accustomed  to 
receive,  as  a  leader  should  receive. 

The  following  weeks  were  ones  of  intrigue  and  nervous 
speculation.  Pledged  among  the  first,  he  found  himself 
with  Hunter,  Story,  and  Tommy  Bain  in  the  position  of 
adviser  as  to  the  selection  of  the  rest  of  his  crowd. 
Hunter  and  Bain,  each  with  an  object  in  view,  sought 
to  enlist  his  aid.  He  perceived  their  intentions,  not  duped 
by  the  new  cordiality,  growing  more  and  more  antagonistic 
to  their  businesslike  ambitions.  With  Joe  Hungerford 
and  Bob  Story  he  found  his  real  friends.  And  yet,  what 
L  completely  surprised  him  was  the  lack  of  careless,  indo 
lent  camaraderie  which  he  had  known  at  school  and 
had  expected  in  larger  scope  at  college.  Every  one 
was  busy,  working  with  a  dogged  persistence  along  some 
line  of  ambition.  The  long,  lazy  afternoons  and  pleasant 
evenings  were  not  there.  Instead  was  the  grinding  of 
the  mills  and  the  turning  of  the  wheels.  How  it  was  with 
the  rest  he  ignored ;  but  with  his  own  crowd  —  the  chosen 
—  life  was  earnest,  disciplined  in  a  set  purpose.  He  felt 
it  in  the  open  afternoon,  in  the  quiet  passage  of  candi 
dates  for  the  baseball  teams,  the  track,  and  the  crew ;  in 
the  evenings,  in  the  strumming  of  instruments  from 
Alumni  Hall  and  the  practising  of  musical  organizations, 
and  most  of  all  in  the  flitting,  breathless  passage  of  the 
News  heelers  —  in  snow  or  sleet,  running  in  and  out  of 
buildings,  frantically  chasing  down  a  tip,  haggard  with  the 
long-drawn-out  struggle  now  ending  the  fourth  month. 

He  himself  had  surrendered  again  to  this  compelling 
activity  and  gone  over  to  the  gymnasium,  taking  his  place 
at  the  oars  in  the  churning  tanks,  bending  methodically  as 
the  bare  torso  of  the  man  in  f-C'it  bent  or  shot  back,  con- 


STOVER    AT    YALE  183 

centrating  all  his  faculties  on  the  shouted  words  of  advice 
from  the  pacing  coach  above  him. 

He  was  too  light  to  win  in  the  competition  of  unusual 
material  —  he  could  only  hope  for  a  second  or  third  sub 
stitute  at  best;  but  that  was  what  counted,  he  said  to 
himself,  what  made  competition  in  the  class  and  brought 
others  out,  just  as  it  did  in  football.  And  so  he  stuck 
to  his  grind,  satisfied,  on  the  whole,  that  his  afternoons 
were  mapped  out  for  him. 

Meanwhile  the  pledges  to  the  sophomore  societies  con 
tinued  and  the  field  began  to  narrow.  McCarthy's  hold- 
off  was  renewed  each  time,  but  the  election  did  not  arrive. 

In  his  own  crowd  Story,  Hungerford,  and  himself 
found  themselves  in  earnest  alliance  for  the  election  of 
Regan  and  Brockhurst.  Regan,  however,  had  so  antag 
onized  certain  members  of  their  sophomore  crowd  that 
their  task  was  well-nigh  impossible.  He  had  been  pro 
nounced  "  fresh,"  equivalent  almost  to  a  ban  of  excom 
munication,  for  his  extraordinary  lack  of  reverence  to 
things  that  traditionally  should  be  revered,  and  as  he 
had  a  blunt,  direct  way  of  showing  in  his  eyes  what  he 
liked  and  disliked,  his  sterling  qualities  were  forgotten 
in  the  irritation  he  caused.  Besides,  as  the  opening  nar 
rowed  to  three  or  four  vacancies,  Hunter  and  Bain,  in 
the  service  of  their  own  friends,  arrayed  themselves  in 
silent  opposition  to  him  and  to  Brockhurst. 

About  the  latter,  Stover  found  himself  increasingly 
unable  to  make  up  his  mind.  He  went  to  see  him  once 
or  twice,  but  the  visit  was  never  returned.  In  his  infal 
libility  —  for  infallibility  is  a  requisite  of  a  leader  —  he 
decided  that  there  was  something  queer  about  him.  He 
rather  shunned  others,  took  long  walks  by  himself,  in  a 
crowd  always  seemed  removed,  watching  others  with  a 
distant  eye  which  had  in  it  a  little  mockery.  His  room 


184  STOVERATYALE 

was  always  in  confusion,  as  was  his  tousled  hair.  In  a 
word,  he  was  a  little  of  a  barbarian,  who  did  not  speak 
the  ready  lip  language  that  was  current  in  social  gather 
ings,  and,  unfortunately,  did  not  show  well  his  paces  when 
confronted  with  inspection.  So  when  the  final  vote  came 
Stover,  infallible  judge  of  human  nature,  conscientiously 
decided  that  Brockhurst  did  not  rank  with  the  exceed 
ingly  choice  crowd  of  which  he  was  a  leader. 

With  the  arrival  of  the  elections  for  the  managerships 
of  the  four  big  athletic  organizations,  positions  in  the  past 
disputed  by  the  candidacies  of  the  three  sophomore  soci 
eties,  a  revolution  took  place.  The  non-society  element, 
organized  by  Gimbel  and  other  insurgents  ahead  of  him, 
put  up  a  candidate  for  the  football  managership  and 
elected  him  by  an  overwhelming  majority,  and  repeated 
their  success  with  the  Navy. 

The  second  victory  was  like  the  throwing  down  of  a 
gauntlet.  The  class,  which  had  been  quietly  dividing 
since  the  advent  of  the  hold-offs,  definitely  split,  and  for 
the  first  time  Stover  became  aware  of  the  soundness  of 
the  opposition  to  the  social  system  of  which  he  was  a 
prospective  leader.  Quite  to  his  surprise,  Jim  Hunter 
appeared  in  his  room  one  night. 

"  What  the  deuce  does  he  want  now  ?  "  he  thought  to 
himself,  wondering  if  he  were  to  be  again  solicited  in 
favor  of  Stone,  who  was  still  short  of  election. 

"  I  say,  Dink,  we're  up  against  a  serious  row,"  said 
Hunter,  making  himself  comfortable  and  speaking  always 
in  the  same  unvarying  tone.  "  The  class  is  split  to 
pieces." 

"  It  looks  that  way." 

"  It's  all  Gimbel  and  that  crowd  of  soreheads  he  runs. 
We  had  trouble  with  him  up  at  Andover." 

"  Well,  Jim,  what  do  you  think  about  the  whole  propo- 


STOVER    AT    YALE  185 

sition  ?  "  said  Stover.  "  The  college  seems  pretty  strong 
against  us." 

"  It's  just  a  couple  of  men  who  are  cooking  it  up  to 
work  themselves  into  office,"  said  Hunter,  dismissing  the 
idea  lightly.  "  You'll  see,  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

Somehow,  Stover  found  that  renewed  contest  with 
Hunter  only  increased  the  feeling  of  antagonism  he  had 
felt  from  the  first.  He  was  aware  of  a  growing  resist 
ance  to  Hunter's  point  of  view,  guarded  and  deliberate 
as  it  was.  So  he  said  point  blank: 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  there  isn't  some  basis  for  the  feeling. 
We  ought  to  watch  out  and  make  ourselves  as  democratic 
as  possible." 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Hunter,  in  the  tone  of  amused 
worldliness,  "  these  anti-society  fights  go  on  everywhere. 
There  was  a  great  hullabaloo  six  or  seven  years  ago,  and 
then  it  all  died  out.  You'll  see,  that's  what'll  happen. 
Gimbel'll  get  what  he  wants,  then  he'll  quiet  down  and 
hope  to  make  a  senior  society.  Don't  get  too  excited 
over  things  that  happen  in  freshman  year." 

"  Have  you  talked  with  Story?  "  said  Stover,  resenting 
his  tone. 

"Bob's  got  a  curious  twist  —  he's  a  good  deal  of  a 
dreamer." 

"  Then  you  wouldn't  make  any  changes  ?  " 

"  No,  not  in  our  crowd,"  said  Hunter.  "  I  think  we 
do  very  well  what  we  set  out  to  get  —  the  representative 
men  of  the  class,  to  bring  them  together  into  close  friend 
ship,  and  make  them  understand  one  another's  point  of 
view  and  so  work  together  for  the  best  in  the  university." 

11  You  think  the  outsiders  don't  count  ?  " 

"  As  a  rule,  no.  Of  course,  there  are  one  or  two  men 
who  develop  later,  but  if  there's  anything  in  them  they'll 
really  make  good." 


186  STOVER   AT    YALE 

"  Rather  tough  work,  won't  it  be  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  every  system  has  its  faults." 

"  What  did  you  come  in  to  see  me  about  ?  "  said  Stover 
abruptly. 

"  To  talk  the  situation  over,"  said  Hunter,  not  seeming 
to  perceive  the  hostility  of  the  question.  "  I  think  all 
of  us  in  the  crowd  ought  to  be  very  careful." 

"About  what?" 

"  About  talking  too  much." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"  I  mean,  if  you  have  any  criticism  on  the  system,  keep 
it  to  yourself.  Gimbel  is  raising  enough  trouble;  the 
only  thing  is  for  us  to  shut  up  and  not  encourage  them 
by  making  the  kickers  think  that  any  of  us  agree  with 
them." 

"  So  that's  what  you  came  in  to  say  to  me  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You're  for  no  compromise." 

"  I  am." 

"  Are  there  fellows  in  our  crowd,  or  the  classes  ahead, 
who  feel  as  Story  does  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  of  course  there  are  a  few." 

"  And,  Hunter,  you  see  no  faults  in  the  system  ?  " 

"  What  other  system  would  you  suggest  ?  " 

Now,  Stover  had  not  yet  come  to  a  critical  analysis  of 
his  own  good  fortune,  nor  had  he  any  more  than  a  per 
sonal  antagonism  for  Hunter  himself.  He  did  not  an 
swer,  unwilling  to  let  this  feeling  color  his  views  on  what 
he  began  to  perceive  might  some  day  shape  itself  as  a  test 
of  his  courage. 

Hunter  left  presently,  as  he  had  come  up,  without 
enthusiasm,  always  cold,  always  deliberate.  When  he 
had  gone,  Stover  became  a  little  angry  at  the  advice  so 


STOVER    AT    YALE  187 

openly  imposed  on  him,  and  as  a  result  he  decided  on  a 
sudden  move. 

If  the  split  in  the  class  was  acute,  something  ought 
to  be  done.  If  Hunter,  as  a  leader,  was  resolved  on 
contemptuous  isolation,  he  would  do  a  bigger  thing  in  a 
bigger  way. 

In  pursuance  of  this  idea,  he  suddenly  set  out  to  find 
Gimbel  and  provoke  a  frank  discussion.  If  anything 
could  be  done  to  hold  the  class  together  and  stop  the 
rise  of  political  dissension,  it  was  his  duty  as  a  responsible 
leader  to  do  what  he  could  to  prevent  it. 

When  he  reached  the  room,  it  was  crowded,  and  an 
excited  discussion  was  going  on,  which  dropped  suddenly 
on  his  entrance.  What  the  subject  of  conversation  was 
he  had  a  shrewd  suspicion,  seeing  several  representatives 
from  Sheff. 

"  Hello,  Stover.  Come  right  in.  Glad  to  see  you." 
Gimbel,  a  little  puzzled  at  this  first  visit,  came  forward 
cordially.  "  You  know  every  one  here,  don't  you  ? 
Jackson,  shake  hands  with  Stover.  What'll  you  have, 
pipe  or  cigarette  ?  " 

Stover  nodded  to  the  fellows  whom  he  knew  on  slight 
acquaintance,  settled  in  an  arm-chair,  brought  forth  his 
pipe,  and  said  with  assumed  carelessness : 

"  What  was  all  the  pow-wow  about  when  I  arrived  ?  " 

A  certain  embarrassment  stirred  in  the  room,  but 
Gimbel,  smiling  at  the  question,  said  frankly : 

"  We  were  fixing  up  a  combination  for  the  baseball 
managership.  We  are  going  to  lick  you  fellows  to  a 
scramble.  That's  what  you've  come  over  to  talk  about, 
isn't  it?" 

"  Yes." 

The  crowd,  plainly  disconcerted  at  this  smiling  passage 


188  STOVER   AT    YALE 

of  arms,  began  to  melt  away  with  hastily  formed  ex 
cuses. 

"  Quite  a  meeting-place,  Gimbel,  you  have  here,"  said 
Stover,  nodding  to  the  last  disappearing  group. 

"  Politicians  should  have,"  replied  Gimbel,  straddling 
a  chair,  and,  leaning  his  arms  on  the  back,  he  added,  smil 
ing  :  "  Well,  fire  away." 

Each  had  grown  in  authority  since  their  first  meeting 
on  the  opening  of  college,  nor  was  the  question  of  war 
or  peace  yet  decided  between  them. 

"  Gimbel,  I  hope  we  can  talk  this  thing  over  openly." 

"  I  think  we  can." 

"  I'm  doing  an  unusual  thing  in  coming  to  you.  You're 
a  power  in  this  class." 

"  And  you  represent  the  other  side,"  said  Gimbel. 
"  Go  on." 

"  You're  going  to  run  a  candidate  for  the  baseball  man 
agership." 

"  I'm  not  running  him,  but  I'm  making  the  combination 
for  this  class." 

"  Same  thing." 

"  Just  about." 

"  Are  you  fellows  going  to  shut  out  every  society  man 
that  goes  up  for  a  class  election  ?  " 

"  You're  putting  a  pretty  direct  question." 

"  Answer  it  if  you  want  to." 

"  Yes,  I'll  answer  it."  Gimbel  looked  at  him,  plainly 
concerned  in  emulating  his  frankness,  and  continued: 
"  Stover,  this  anti-sophomore  society  fight  is  a  fight  to 
the  finish.  We  are  going  to  put  up  an  outsider,  as  you 
call  it,  for  every  election,  and  we're  going  to  elect  him." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  we  are  serving  notice  that  we  are  against  a 
system  that  is  political  and  undemocratic." 


STOVER   AT   YALE  189 

"Whatgood'llitdo?" 

"  We'll  abolish  the  whole  system." 

"  Do  you  really  believe  that  ?  "  said  Stover,  strangely 
enough,  adopting  Hunter's  attitude. 

"I  do ;  I  may  know  the  feeling  in  the  upper  classes 
better  than  you  do." 

"  Gimbel,  how  much  of  this  is  real  opposition  and  how 
much  is  worked  up  by  you  and  others?  " 

"  My  dear  Stover,  why  ask  who  is  responsible  ?  Ask 
if  the  opposition  is  genuine  and  whether  it's  going  to 
stick." 

"  I  don't  believe  it  is." 

"  That's  not  it.  What  you  want  to  know  is  how  much 
is  conviction  in  me,  and  how  much  is  just  the  fun  of  run 
ning  things  and  stirring  up  mischief." 

"  That  does  puzzle  me  —  yes.  But  what  I  want  you 
to  see  is,  you're  splitting  up  the  class." 

"  I'm  not  doing  it,  and  you're  not  doing  it.  It's  the 
class  ahead  that's  interfering  and  doing  it.  Now,  Stover, 
I've  answered  your  questions.  Will  you  answer  mine  ?  " 

"  That's  fair." 

"  If  you  put  up  a  candidate,  why  shouldn't  we  ?  " 

"  But  you  make  politics  out  of  it." 

"  Do  you  ever  support  the  candidate  of  another 
crowd?" 

Stover  was  silent. 

"  Stover,  do  you  know  that  for  years  these  elections 
have  gone  on  with  just  three  candidates  offered,  one  each 
from  your  three  sophomore  societies?  And  how  have 
they  been  run?  By  putting  up  your  lame  ducks." 

"Oh,  come." 

"  Not  always.  But  if  you  think  you  can  elect  a  weak 
member  instead  of  a  strong  one,  you  trot  out  the  lame 
duck.  Why?  Because  at  the  bottom  you  are  not  really 


190  STOVER    AT    YALE 

social,  but  political;  because  your  main  object  is  to  get 
as  many  of  your  men  into  senior  societies  as  you  can." 

"Well,  why  not?" 

"  Because  you're  doing  it  at  the  expense  of  the  class  — 
by  making  us  bolster  up  the  weak  ones  with  an  office." 

"  I  don't  think  that's  entirely  fair." 

"  You'll  see.  Look  at  the  last  candidates  the  sopho 
mores  put  up.  You  haven't  answered  my  questions. 
Why  shouldn't  we  non-society  men,  six-sevenths  of  the 
class,  have  the  right  to  put  up  our  candidates  and  elect 
them?" 

"  You  have,"  said  Stover ;  "  but,  Gimbel,  you're  not 
doing  it  for  that.  You're  doing  it  to  knock  us  out." 

"  Quite  true." 

"  That  means  the  whole  class  goes  to  smash  —  that 
we're  going  to  have  nothing  but  fights  and  hard  feelings 
from  now  on.  Is  that  what  you  want  ?  " 

"  Stover,  it's  a  bigger  thing  than  just  the  peace  of  mind 
of  our  class." 

"  But  what  is  your  objection  to  us  ?  "  said  Stover. 

"  My  objection  is  that  just  that  class  feeling  and  har 
mony  you  spoke  of  your  societies  have  already  de 
stroyed." 

"In  what  way?" 

"  Because  you  break  in  and  take  little  groups  out  of 
the  body  of  the  class  and  herd  together." 

"You  exaggerate." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't ;  and  you'll  see  it  more  next  year. 
You've  formed  your  crowd,  and  you'll  stick  together  and 
you'll  all  do  everything  you  can  to  help  each  other  along. 
That's  natural.  But  don't  come  and  say  to  me  that  we 
fellows  are  dividing  the  class." 

"  Rats,  Gimbel !  Just  because  I'm  in  a  soph  isn't  going 
to  make  any  difference  with  the  men  I  see." 


STOVER    AT.   YALE  191 

"  You  think  so  ? "  said  Gimbel,  looking  at  him  with 
real  curiosity. 

"  You  bet  it  won't." 

"  Wait  and  see." 

"  That's  too  ridiculous !  " 

Stover,  feeling  his  anger  gaining  possession  of  him,  rose 
abruptly. 

"  How  can  it  be  otherwise  ?  "  said  Gimbel,  persisting. 

"  Next  year  the  only  outsiders  you'll  see  will  be  a  few 
bootlickers  who'll  attach  themselves  to  you  to  get  pulled 
into  a  junior  society.  The  real  men  won't  go  with  you, 
because  they  don't  want  to  kowtow  and  heel." 

"  We'll  see." 

"  I  say,  Stover,"  said  Gimbel  abruptly,  as  Dink,  for 
fear  of  losing  his  temper,  was  leaving.  "  Now,  be  square. 
You've  come  to  me  frankly  —  I  won't  say  impertinently 
—  and  I've  answered  your  questions  and  told  you  openly 
what  we're  going  to  do.  Give  me  credit  for  that,  will 
you?" 

"  I  don't  believe  in  you,"  said  Stover,  facing  him. 

"  I  know  you  don't,"  said  Gimbel,  flushing  a  little,  "  but 
you  will  before  you  get  through." 

"  I  doubt  it." 

"  And  I'll  tell  you  another  thing  you'll  do  before  this 
sophomore  society  fight  is  ended,"  said  Gimbel,  with  a 
sudden  heat. 

"What?" 

"  You'll  stand  on  the  right  side  —  where  we  stand." 

"You  think  so?" 

"I  know  it!" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WHEN  a  freshman  has  been  invited  to  dinner  and 
in  a  rash  moment  accepted  the  invitation  and  lived 
through  the  agony,  he  usually  pays  his  party  call  (always 
supposing  that  he  has  imbibed  a  certain  amount  of  home 
etiquette)  sometime  before  graduation.  In  the  balance 
of  freshman  year  the  obligation  possesses  him  like  a 
specter  of  remorse;  in  sophomore  year  he  remembers  it 
by  fits  and  starts,  always  in  the  middle  of  the  week,  in 
time  to  forget  it  by  Sunday ;  in  junior  year  he  is  tempted 
once  or  twice  to  use  it  as  an  excuse  for  sporting  his  newly 
won  high  hat  and  frock-coat,  but  fears  he  has  offended 
too  deeply ;  and  in  senior  year  he  watches  the  local  society 
columns  for  departures,  and  rushes  around  to  deposit  his 
cards,  with  an  expression  of  surprise  and  regret  when 
informed  at  the  door  that  the  family  is  away. 

Dink  Stover  temporized,  confronted  with  the  awful 
ordeal  of  arraying  himself  in  his  Sunday  prison  garb  and 
stiffly  traversing  the  long,  tricky,  rug-strewn  hall  of  the 
Story's,  with  the  chance  of  suddenly  showing  his  whole 
person  to  a  dozen  inquisitive  eyes.  He  let  the  first  Sun 
day  pass  without  a  qualm,  as  being  too  unnecessarily  close 
and  familiar.  On  the  second  Sunday  he  decided  to  wait 
until  he  had  received  the  suit  made  of  goods  purchased 
at  a  miraculous  bargain  from  the  unsuspecting  Yankee 
drummer.  The  third  Sunday  he  completely  forgot  his 
duties  as  a  man  of  fashion.  On  the  fourth  Sunday,  in 
a  panic,  he  bound  his  neck  in  a  shackling  high  collar, 

192 


STOVER   AT   YALE  193 

donned  his  new  suit,  which  looked  as  lovely  as  everything 
that  is  new  and  untried  can  look,  and  went  post-haste 
in  search  of  Hungerford  as  a  companion  in  misery  and 
a  post  to  which  to  cling.  To  his  horror,  Hungerford  had 
paid  his  visit,  and  felt  very  doubtful  as  to  the  propriety 
of  repeating  it  before  having  been  again  fed. 

Dink  returned  for  McNab  or  Hunter  as  the  lesser  of 
two  evils.  They  were  both  out.  Being  in  stiff  and  cir 
cumstantial  attire,  the  afternoon  was  manifestly  lost. 
With  a  sort  of  desperate  hope  for  some  miraculous  eva 
sion,  he  set  out  laggingly  for  the  Story  mansion,  revolving 
different  plans. 

"  I  might  leave  a  card  at  the  door,"  he  thought  to 
himself,  "  and  tell  the  girl  that  my  room-mate  was  des 
perately  ill  —  that  I  had  just  run  in  for  a  moment  because 
I  wanted  them  to  know,  to  know  —  to  know  what  ?  " 

The  idea  expired  noiselessly.  He  likewise  rejected  the 
idea  of  stalking  the  door  Indian  fashion,  and  slipping  the 
card  under  the  crack  as  if  he  had  rung  and  not  been 
heard. 

"After  all,  they  might  be  out,"  he  thought  at  last, 
hopefully.  "  I'll  just  go  by  quietly  and  see  if  I  can  hear 
anything." 

But  at  the  moment  when  he  came  abreast  the  steps  a 
carriage  drove  up,  the  door  opened,  and  Judge  Story 
and  his  wife  came  down.  Stover  came  to  a  balky  stop, 
hastily  snatching  away  his  derby. 

"  Why,  bless  me  if  it  isn't  Mr.  Stover,"  said  the  Judge 
instantly.  "  Dressed  to  kill,  too.  Never  expected  to 
see  you  until  I  went  around  myself,  with  an  injunction. 
How  did  you  screw  up  your  courage  ?  " 

Mrs.  Story  came  to  his  rescue,  smiling  a  little  at  his 
tell-tale  face. 


194  STOVER   A  TYALE 

"  Don't  stop  on  my  account,"  said  Stover,  very  much 
embarrassed.  "  It's  a  beautiful  day  for  a  ride,  beau 
tiful." 

"  Oh,  you  are  not  going  to  get  off  as  easily  as  that," 
said  the  Judge,  delighted.  "  My  daughter  Jean  is  inside 
watching  you  from  behind  the  curtains.  Go  right  up 
and  entertain  her  with  some  side-splitting  stories.  Be 
sides,  Miss  Kelly  is  there  with  some  important  top-heavy 
junior  who  thinks  he's  making  an  awful  hit  with  her. 
Go  in  and  steal  her  right  away  from  him." 

The  maid  stood  at  the  open  door.  There  was  nothing 
to  do  but  to  toil  up  the  penal  steps,  heart  in  mouth. 

"  Is  Miss  Story  in  ?  "  he  said  in  a  lugubrious  voice. 
"  Will  you  present  her  with  this  card  ?  " 

"  Step  right  into  the  parlor,  sah.  You'll  find  Miss 
Jean  there,"  said  the  colored  maid,  with  no  feeling  at 
all  for  his  suffering. 

He  caught  a  fleeting,  unreassuring  glimpse  of  himself 
in  a  dark  mirror,  successfully  negotiated  the  sliding  rugs, 
and  all  at  once  found  himself  somehow  in  the  cheery 
parlor  alone  with  Miss  Story,  shaking  hands. 

"Miss  Kelly  is  here?"  he  said,  perfunctorily  stalking 
to  a  chair. 

"  No,  indeed."       . 

"Why  your  father  said—" 

"  That  was  only  his  way  —  he's  a  dreadful  tease." 

Stover  drew  a  more  quiet  breath,  and  even  relaxed 
into  a  smile. 

"  He  had  me  all  primed  up  for  a  junior,  at  least." 

"Isn't  Dad  dreadful!  That's  why  you  came  in  with 
such  overpowering  dignity  ?  " 

Stover  laughed,  a  little  pleased  that  his  entrance  could 
be  so  described,  and,  shifting  to  a  less  painfully  con- 


STOVERATYALE  195 

tracted  position,  sought  anxiously  for  some  brilliant  open 
ing  that  would  make  the  conversation  a  distinguished 
success. 

Now,  although  he  still  retained  his  invincible  determi 
nation  to  keep  his  faith  from  women,  he  had  during  cer 
tain  pleasant  episodes  of  the  last  vacation  condescended 
to  listen  politely  to  the  not  disagreeable  adoration  of 
a  score  of  hero-worshiping  young  ladies  still  languishing 
in  boarding-schools.  He  had  learned  the  trick  of  such 
conversations,  exchanged  photographs  with  the  laudable 
intention  of  making  his  rooms  more  like  an  art  gallery 
than  ever,  and  carried  off  as  mementos  such  articles  as 
fans,  handkerchiefs,  flowers,  etc. 

But,  somehow,  the  stock  phrases  were  out  of  place  here. 
He  tried  one  or  two  openings,  and  then  relapsed,  watching 
her  as  she  took  up  the  conversation  easily  and  ran  on. 
Ever  since  their  first  meeting  the  charming  silhouette  of 
the  young  girl  had  been  in  his  mind.  He  watched  her 
as  she  rose  once  or  twice  to  cross  the  room,  and  her  move 
ments  had  the  same  gentle  rhythm  that  mystified  him  in 
her  voice.  Yet  he  was  conscious  of  a  certain  antagonism. 
His  vanity,  perhaps,  was  a  little  stirred.  She  was  not 
flattered  in  the  least  by  his  attentions,  which  in  itself  was 
an  incredible  thing.  There  was  about  her  not  the  slight 
est  suggestion  of  coquetry  —  in  fact,  not  more  than  a 
polite  uninterested  attitude  toward  a  guest.  And,  per 
ceiving  this  all  at  once,  a  desire  came  to  him  to  force 
from  her  some  recognition. 

"  You  are  very  much  like  Bob,"  he  said  abruptly,  "  you 
are  very  hard  to  know." 

"Really?" 

"  I  really  want  to  know  your  brother,  but  I  can't.  I 
don't  think  he  likes  me,"  he  said. 


196  STOVER   AT,   FALE 

"  I  don't  think  Bob  knows  you,"  she  said  carefully, 
raising  her  eyes  in  a  little  surprise.  "  You're  right;  we 
both  take  a  long  time  to  make  up  our  minds." 

"  Then  what  I  said  is  true  ?  "  he  persisted. 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  as  if  wondering  how 
frank  she  might  be,  and  said  after  a  little  deliberation: 

"  I  think  he's  in  a  little  doubt  about  you." 

"  In  doubt,"  said  the  prospective  captain  of  a  Yale 
eleven,  vastly  amazed.  "  How  ?  " 

"  You  will  succeed;  I  am  sure  of  that." 

"Well,  what  then?"  he  said,  wondering  what  other 
standard  could  be  applied. 

"  I  wonder  how  real  you  will  be  in  your  success,"  she 
said,  looking  at  him  steadily. 

"  You  think  I  am  calculating  and  cold  about  it,"  he 
said,  insisting. 

She  nodded  her  head,  and  then  corrected  herself. 

"  I  think  you  are  in  danger  of  it  —  being  entirely  ab 
sorbed  in  yourself  —  not  much  to  give  to  others  —  that's 
what  I  mean." 

"  By  George,"  said  Dink,  open-mouthed,  "  you  are  the 
strangest  person  I  ever  met  in  my  life ! " 

She  colored  a  little  at  this,  and  said  hastily : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon ;  I  didn't  realize  what  I  was 
saying." 

"  You  may  be  right,  too."  He  rose  and  walked  a  little, 
thinking  it  over.  He  stopped  suddenly  and  turned  to 
her.  "  Why  do  you  think  I'm  not  '  real '  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  you  have  begun  to  think  yet." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  —  well,  because  you  are  too  popular,  too 
successful.  It's  all  come  too  easily.  You've  had  nothing 
to  test  you.  There's  nothing  so  much  alike  as  the  suc 
cessful  men  here." 


STOVER   AT   YALE  197 

"  You  are  very  old  for  your  years,"  he  said,  plainly 
annoyed. 

"  No ;  I  listen.     Bob  and  Dad  say  the  same  thing." 

"  You  know,  I  wanted  you  to  be  my  friend,"  he  said, 
suddenly  brushing  aside  the  conversation.  "  You  remem- 
ber?" 

"  I  should  like  to  be  your  friend,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  If  I  turn  out  as  you  want." 

"  Certainly." 

He  seized  an  early  opportunity  to  leave,  furious  at  what 
(not  understanding  that  the  instincts  of  a  first  antagonism 
in  a  young  girl  are  sometimes  evidence  of  a  growing  in 
terest)  he  felt  was  her  indifference.  He  did  not  go 
directly  to  his  rooms,  but  struck  out  for  a  brisk  walk  up 
the  avenue. 

"  What  the  deuce  does  she  think  I'm  going  to  turn 
out?"  he  said  to  himself,  with  some  irritation.  "Turn 
out  ?  Absurd !  Haven't  I  done  everything  I  should  do  ? 
I've  only  been  here  a  year,  and  I  stand  for  something. 
By  George,  I'd  like  to  know  how  many  men  get  where 
I've  gotten  the  first  year."  Looking  back  over  the  year, 
he  was  quickly  reassured  on  this  vital  point.  "  If  she 
thinks  I'm  calculating,  how  about  Hunter?  He's  the 
original  cold  fish,"  he  said.  "  Yes,  what  about  him  ? 
Absurd.  She  just  said  that  to  provoke  me."  He  sought 
in  his  mind  some  epithet  adequate  to  such  impertinence, 
and  declared :  "  She's  young  —  that's  it ;  she's  quite 
young." 

Suddenly  he  thought  of  Regan,  who  had  intruded  his 
shadow  across  the  path  of  his  personal  ambition.  Had 
he  really  been  honest  about  Regan?  Could  he  not  have 
made  him  see  the  advantages  of  belonging  to  a  sophomore 
society,  if  he  had  really  tried?  Whereupon  Mr.  Dink 
Stover  began  a  long,  victorious  debate  with  his  conscience, 


198  STOVER   AT    YALE 

one  of  those  soul-satisfying  arguments  that  always  end 
one  way,  as  conscience  is  a  singularly  poor  debater  when 
pitted  against  a  resourceful  mind. 

"  Heavens !  haven't  I  been  the  best  friend  he's  had  ?  " 
he  concluded.  "  Perhaps  I  might  have  talked  more  to 
him  about  the  sophomore  question,  but  then,  I  know  I 
never  could  have  changed  him.  So  what's  the  odds? 
I'm  democratic  and  liberal.  Didn't  I  go  to  Gimbel  and 
have  it  out?  I  can  see  the  other  side,  too.  What  the 
deuce,  then,  did  she  mean  ?  " 

After  another  long  period  of  furious  tramping,  he  an 
swered  this  vexing  question  in  the  following  irrelevant 
way :  "  By  George,  what  an  extraordinary  girl  she  is ! 
I  must  go  around  again  and  talk  with  her.  She  brushes 
me  up." 

And  around  he  did  go,  not  once,  but  several  times. 
The  first  little  antagonism  between  them  gradually  wore 
away,  and  yet  he  was  aware  of  a  certain  defensive  atti 
tude  in  her,  a  judgment  that  was  reserved ;  and  as,  by 
the  perfected  averaging  system  of  college,  he  had  lost 
in  one  short  year  all  the  originality  and  imagination  he 
had  brought  with  him,  he  was  quite  at  a  loss  to  under 
stand  what  she  found  lacking  in  so  important  and  suc 
cessful  a  personage  as  Mr.  John  Humperdink  Stover. 

Naturally,  he  felt  that  he  was  in  love.  This  extraor 
dinary  passion  came  to  him  in  the  most  sudden  and  con 
vincing  manner.  He  corresponded,  with  much  physical 
and  mental  agony,  with  what  is  called  a  dashing  brunette, 
with  whom  he  had  danced  eleven  dances  out  of  a  possible 
sixteen  on  the  occasion  of  a  house-party  in  the  Christmas 
vacation,  on  the  strength  of  which  they  had  exchanged 
photographs  and  simulated  a  confidential  correspondence. 
He  had  done  this  because  he  had  plainly  perceived  it  was 
the  thing  for  a  man  to  do,  as  one  watches  the  crease 


STOVERATYALE  199 

in  the  trousers  or  exposes  a  vest  a  little  more  daring 
than  the  rest.  It  gave  him  a  sort  of  reputation  among 
lady-killers  that  was  not  distasteful.  At  Easter  he  had 
annexed  a  blonde,  who  wrote  effusive  rolling  scrawls  and 
used  a  noticeable  crest.  He  had  done  this,  likewise,  be 
cause  he  wished  to  be  known  as  a  destructive  force,  as 
one  who  rather  allowed  himself  to  be  loved.  But  he 
found  the  manual  labor  too  taxing.  He  was  cruel  and 
abrupt  to  the  blonde,  but  he  consoled  himself  by  saying 
to  himself  that  he  had  restored  to  the  little  girl  her  peace 
of  mind. 

On  Sunday  evening,  then,  according  to  tacit  agreement, 
after  a  pipe  had  been  smoked  and  the  fifth  Sunday  news 
paper  had  been  searched  for  the  third  time,  McCarthy 
stretched  himself  like  a  cat  and  said: 

"  Well,  I  guess  I'll  dash  off  a  few  heart-throbs  to  the 
dear  little  things." 

"  That  reminds  me,"  said  Stover,  with  an  obvious  loud- 
ness.  He  took  out  the  last  heliotrope  envelop  and  read 
over  the  contents  which  had  pleased  him  so  much  on  the 
preceding  Tuesday.  Somehow,  it  had  a  different  ring  — 
a  little  too  flippant,  too  facile. 

"  What  the  deuce  am  I  going  to  write  her  ?  "  he  said, 
inciting  his  hair  to  rebellion.  He  cleaned  the  pen,  and 
then  the  ink-well,  and  wrote  on  the  envelop: 

Miss  Anita  Laurence 

It  was  a  name  that  had  particularly  attracted  him,  it 
was  so  Spanish  and  suggestive  of  serenades.  He  wrote 
again  at  the  top  of  the  page : 

"Dear  Anita." 

Then  he  stopped. 

"  What  the  deuce  can  I  say  now  ?  "  he  repeated  crossly. 


200  STOVERATYALE 

"  By  George,  I've  only  seen  her  five  times.  What  is  there 
to  say?" 

He  rose,  went  to  his  bureau,  and  took  up  the  photo 
graph  of  honor  and  looked  at  it  long.  It  was  a  pretty 
face,  but  the  ears  were  rather  large.  Then  he  went  back, 
and,  tearing  up  what  he  had  written,  closed  his  desk. 

"  Hello,"  said  McCarthy,  who  was  in  difficulties. 
"  Aren't  you  going  to  write  Anita  ?  " 

"  I  wrote  her  last  night,"  said  Stover  with  justifiable 
mendacity.  "  I  was  writing  home,  but  feel  rather 
sleepy." 

As  this  was  unchallengeable,  he  went  to  his  room  and 
stretched  out  on  the  delicious  bed. 

"I  wonder  if  I'm  falling  in  love  with  Jean  Story?" 
he  said  hopefully.  "  I'm  sick  to  death  of  Anita  calling 
me  by  my  front  name  and  writing  as  she  does.  I'll  bet 
I'm  not  the  only  one,  either !  "  This  sublimely  ingenious 
suspicion  sufficed  for  the  demise  of  the  dashing  brunette 
from  whom  he  had  forced  eleven  dances  out  of  a  possible 
sixteen.  "  Jean  Story  is  so  different.  What  the  deuce 
does  she  want  changed  in  me?  I  wonder  if  I  could  get 
Bob  to  give  me  a  bid  for  a  visit  this  summer  ?  " 

The  opening  to  the  imagination  being  thus  provided, 
he  went  wandering  over  summer  meadows  with  a  certain 
slender  girl  who  moved  as  no  one  else  moved  and  in  a 
dreamy  landscape  showed  him  the  most  marked  prefer 
ence.  In  the  midst  of  a  most  delightful  and  thoroughly 
satisfactory  conversation  he  fell  asleep.  When  he  woke 
he  went  straight  to  his  bureau,  and,  removing  the  photo 
graph  of  Anita,  consigned  it  to  a  humble  position  in  the 
study  amid  the  crowded  beauties  that  McCarthy  termed 
the  harem. 

During  first  recitation,  which  was  an  inconsequen 
tial  voyage  into  Greece,  his  imagination  jumped  the  black- 


STOVERATYALE  201 

boarded  walls  and  went  wandering  into  the  realm  of  the 
possible  summer.  A  week  on  the  river  at  the  oars,  how 
ever,  drove  from  him  all  such  imaginings;  but  at  times 
the  vexing  question  returned,  and  each  Sunday,  some 
how,  he  found  an  opportunity  to  drop  in  and  have  a  long 
talk  with  Judge  Story,  of  whom  he  grew  surprisingly 
fond. 

The  period  of  duns  now  set  in,  and  the  house  on  York 
Street  became  a  place  of  mystery  and  signals.  McNab, 
naturally,  was  the  most  sought,  and  he  took  up  a  sort  of 
migratory  abode  on  Stover's  window-seat,  disappearing 
under  the  flaps  at  the  slightest  sound  in  the  corridor. 
Stover  himself  began  to  feel  the  possibilities  of  vistas  and 
the  sense  of  lurking  shadows.  He  was  utterly  disap 
pointed  in  the  material  for  a  suit  which  he  had  bought 
from  the  unsuspecting  Yankee.  It  had  a  yielding  char 
acteristic  way  about  it  that  brought  the  most  surprising 
baggings  and  stretchings,  and  he  had  a  suspicion  that  it 
was  pining  away  and  fading  in  the  sun.  By  the  time  the 
tailor's  bill  had  been  presented  (not  paid),  the  suit  might 
have  been  on  the  fashion  account  of  a  prince.  Then 
there  were  little  notes,  polite  but  insistent,  from  the 
haberdasher's  whence  the  glowing  green  shirt,  now  sadly 
yellowed,  had  come.  In  order  to  make  a  show  of  set 
tling,  he  went  over  to  Commons  to  eat,  and,  being  on  an 
allowance  for  clothes,  economized  on  such  articles  of 
apparel  as  were  visible  only  to  himself  and  McCarthy, 
who  was  in  the  same  threadbare  state. 

His  candidacy  for  the  class  crew  kept  him  in  strict 
training,  though  he  ranked  no  better  than  third  substitute. 
His  afternoons  thus  employed  and  his  evenings  occupied 
with  consultations,  he  fo'und  his  life  as  narrowed  as  it 
had  been  in  the  season  of  football.  Ev^ry  one  knew  him, 
and  he  had  learned  the  trick  of  a  smile  and  an  enthusiastic 


202  STOVERATYALE 

bob  of  the  head  to  every  one.  He  was  a  popular  man 
even  among  the  outsiders  now  more  and  more  openly 
opposed  to  the  sophomore  society  system.  He  was  per 
haps,  at  this  period,  the  most  popular  man  in  his  class; 
and  yet,  he  had  made  scarcely  a  friend,  nor  did  he  under 
stand  quite  what  was  the  longing  in  him. 

With  the  end  of  May  and  the  coming  of  society  week 
for  the  first  time  the  full  intensity  and  seriousness  of  the 
social  ambition  was  brought  before  him.  The  last  elec 
tions  in  his  own  crowd  were  given  out,  Regan  and  Brock- 
hurst  failing  to  be  chosen.  In  McCarthy's  society  the 
last  place  narrowed  down  to  three  men ;  and  Stone,  who 
had  made  the  News,  won  the  choice. 

Stover  was  sitting  alone  with  McCarthy  on  the  critical 
night,  when  the  door  opened  and  Stone  entered.  One 
look  at  his  face  told  McCarthy  what  had  happened. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Tough,"  said  Stone,  a  little  over-tense. 
"  They  gave  me  the  pledge.  It's  hard  luck." 

"  Bully  for  you ! "  There  wasn't  a  break  in  Mc 
Carthy's  voice.  "  I  knew  you'd  get  it  all  along." 

11 1  came  up  to  let  you  know  right  away,"  said  Stone, 
looking  down  at  the  floor.  "  Of  course,  I  wanted  it  my 
self,  but  I'm  sorry  —  deuced  sorry." 

"  Nonsense.  You've  made  the  News.  You  ought  to 
have  it."  McCarthy,  calm  and  smiling,  held  out  his  hand. 
"  Bully  for  you !  Shake  on  it !  " 

Stone  went  almost  immediately  and  the  room-mates 
were  left  alone.  McCarthy  came  back  whistling,  and 
irrelevantly  went  to  his  bureau,  parting  his  hair  with 
methodical  strokes  of  the  brush. 

"  That  was  real  white  of  Stone  to  come  up  and  tell 
me,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  we'll  go  on  with  that  geometry  now." 


STOVERATYALE  203 

He  came  back  and  sat  down  at  the  desk  quite  calmly, 
as  if  a  whole  outlook  had  not  been  suddenly  closed  to 
him. 

Stover,  cut  to  the  heart,  watched  him  with  a  genuine 
thrill.  He  rose,  drew  a  long  breath,  walked  to  the  win 
dow,  and,  coming  back,  laid  his  hand  on  his  room-mate's 
shoulder. 

McCarthy  looked  up  quickly,  with  a  little  flush. 

"  Good  grit,  old  man,"  said  Dink,  "  darned  good  grit." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  It  won't  make  any  difference,  Tough." 

"  Of  course  not."  McCarthy  gave  a  little  laugh  and 
said :  "  Don't  say  any  more,  Dink." 

Stover  took  his  place  opposite,  saying : 

"I  won't,  only  this.  You  take  it  better  than  I  could 
do.  I'm  proud  of  you." 

"  You  remember  what  the  old  man  said  to  you  fellows 
after  that  Princeton  slaughter?"  said  Tough  solemnly. 
"  '  Take  your  medicine.'  Well,  Dink,  I'm  going  to  swal 
low  it  without  a  wink,  and  I  rather  guess,  from  what  I've 
seen,  that's  the  biggest  thing  they  have  to  teach  us  up 
here." 

"  It'll  make  no  difference,"  said  Dink  obstinately. 

"  Of  course  not." 

But  each  knew  that  for  McCarthy,  who  would  never 
be  above  the  substitute  class,  the  issue  of  the  senior 
society  was  settled,  once  and  for  all. 

The  excitement  of  being  initiated,  the  outward  mani 
festation  of  Calcium  Light  Night  and  the  spectacular 
parade  of  the  cowled  junior  societies  with  their  swelling 
marching  songs,  and  the  sudden  arrival  of  Tap  Day  for 
a  while  drove  from  Stover  all  thoughts  but  his  personal 
dreams. 

On  the  fateful  Thursday  in  May,  shortly  after  half 


204  STOVERATYALE 

past  four,  he  and  Tough  went  over  to  the  campus.  By 
the  fence  the  junior  class,  already  swallowed  up  by  the 
curious  body  of  the  college,  were  waiting  the  arrival  of 
the  senior  elections  which  would  begin  on  the  stroke  of 
five. 

"  Lots  of  others  will  take  their  medicine  to-day,"  said 
McCarthy  a  little  grimly. 

"  You  bet." 

Hungerford  and  McNab,  seeing  them,  came  over. 

"  Gee,  look  at  the  way  the  visitors  are  on  the  campus," 
said  McNab. 

"  They're  packed  in  all  the  windows  of  Durfee  and 
over  on  the  steps  of  Dwight  Hall,"  said  Hungerford. 
"  I  didn't  know  they  came  on  like  this." 

"  If  you  want  a  sensation,"  said  McNab,  "  just  go  over 
to  that  bunch  of  juniors.  You  can  hear  every  one  of 
them  breathe.  They're  scared  to  death.  It's  a  regular 
slaughter." 

Stover  looked  curiously  at  McNab,  amazed  to  note  the 
excitement  on  his  usually  flippant  countenance.  Then 
he  looked  over  at  the  herd  huddled  under  the  trees  by 
the  fence.  It  was  all  a  spectacle  still  —  dramatic,  but 
removed  from  his  own  personality.  The  juniors,  with 
but  a  few  exceptions,  were  only  names  to  him.  His  own 
society  men  meant  something,  and  Captain  Dudley  of 
next  year's  eleven,  who,  of  course,  was  absolutely  sure. 
He  felt  a  little  thrill  as  he  looked  over  and  saw  the 
churning  mass  and  thought  that  in  two  years  he  would 
stand  there  and  wait.  But,  for  the  moment,  he  was  only 
eagerly  curious  and  a  little  inclined  to  be  amused  at  the 
excessive  solemnity  of  the  performance. 

"  Who  do  you  think  will  be  first  tapped  for  Bones  ?  " 
said  McNab,  at  his  side. 

"  Dudley,"  said  Hungerford. 


STOVERATYALE  205 

"  No ;  they'll  keep  him  for  the  last  place." 

"  Well,  Allison,  captain  of  the  crew,  then." 

"  I  heard  Smithson  has  switched  over  to  Keys."" 

"  They're  both  after  De  Gollyer." 

All  four  had  tentative  lists  in  their  hands,  eagerly  com 
paring  them. 

"  Dopey,  you're  all  wrong.     Clark'll  never  get  it." 

"  Why  not." 

"  Look  at  your  Bones  list  —  there's  no  place  for  him. 
You've  got  to  include  the  pitcher  of  the  nine  and  the 
president  of  Dwight  Hall,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  My  guess  is  Rogers  first  man  for  Keys." 

"  No ;  they'll  take  some  man  Bones  wants  —  De  Goll 
yer,  probably." 

"  Let's  get  into  the  crowd." 

"  Come  on." 

"  It's  ten  minutes  of  five  already." 

Le  Baron,  passing,  stopped  Stover,  saying  excitedly : 

"  Say,  Dink,  watch  out  for  the  crowd  who  go  Keys 
and  let  me  know,  will  you?  I  mean  the  men  in  our 
crowd  ?  " 

"  Sure  I  will." 

Stover  was  in  the  throng,  with  a  strange,  sharp  memory 
of  Le  Baron's  drawn  face.  It  was  a  silent  mass,  waiting, 
watch  in  hand,  trying  stoically  to  face  down  the  suspense 
of  the  last  awful  minutes.  Men  he  knew  stared  past  him 
unseeing.  Some  were  carefully  dressed,  and  others 
stood  in  sweater  and  jersey,  biting  on  pipes  that  were  not 
lit.  He  heard  a  few  scattered  voices  and  the  brief,  crisp 
remarks  came  to  him  like  the  scattered  popping  of  mus 
ketry. 

"  What's  the  time,  Bill  ?  " 

'''  Three  minutes  of." 

"  Did  they  ever  make  a  mistake  ?  " 


206  STOVERATYALE 

"  Sure ;  four  years  ago.  A  fellow  got  mixed  up  and 
tapped  the  wrong  man." 

"  Didn't  discover  it  until  they  were  half  way  down  the 
campus." 

"  Rotten  situation." 

"  I  should  say  so." 

"  Let's  stand  over  here." 

"What  for?" 

"  Let's  see  Dudley  tapped.  He'll  be  first  man  for 
Bones." 

"  Gee,  what  a  mob !  " 

"  Packed  like  sardines." 

Near  the  fence,  the  juniors,  hemmed  in,  were  con 
stantly  being  welded  together.  Stover,  moving  aimlessly, 
•caught  sight  of  Dudley's  face.  He  would  have  liked  to 
signal  him  a  greeting,  a  look  of  good  will ;  but  the  face 
of  the  captain  was  set  in  stone.  A  voice  near  him  whis 
pered  that  there  was  a  minute  more.  He  looked  in  a" 
dozen  faces,  amazed  at  the  physical  agony  he  saw  in 
those  who  were  counted  surest.  For  the  first  time  he 
began  to  realize  the  importance  of  it,  the  hopes  and  fears 
assembled  there.  Then  he  noticed,  above  the  ghost-like 
heads  of  the  crowd,  the  windows  packed  with  spectators 
drawn  to  the  spectacle.  And  he  had  a  feeling  of  indig 
nant  resentment  that  outsiders  should  be  there  to  watch 
this  test  of  manhood  after  the  long  months  of  striving. 

"  Ten  seconds,  nine  seconds,  eight,"  some  one  said  near 
him.  Then  suddenly,  immediately  swallowed  up  in  a 
roar,  the  first  iron  note  of  the  chapel  bell  crashed  over 
them.  Then  a  shriek : 

"  Yea ! " 

"  There  he  comes !  " 

"  Over  by  the  library." 

"  First  man." 


STOVERATYALE  207 

Across  the  campus,  Dana,  first  man  out  for  Bones,  all 
in  black,  was  making  straight  for  them  with  the  unre 
lenting  directness  of  a  torpedo.  The  same  breathless 
tensity  was  in  his  face,  the  same  solemnity.  The  crowd 
parted  slightly  before  him  and  then  closed  behind  him 
with  a  rush.  He  made  his  way  furiously  into  the  center 
of  the  tangle,  throwing  the  crowd  from  him  without  dis 
tinction  until  opposite  Dudley,  who  waited,  looking  at  him 
blankly.  He  passed,  and  suddenly,  seizing  a  man  nearer 
Stover,  swung  him  around  and  slapped  him  on  the  back 
with  a  loud  slap,  crying : 

"  Go  to  your  room !  " 

Instantly  the  cry  went  up : 

"It's  De  Gollyer!" 

"  First  man  tapped !  " 

The  mass  parted,  and  De  Gollyer,  wabbling  a  little,  tak 
ing  enormous  steps,  shot  out  for  his  dormitory,  tracked 
by  Dana,  while  about  him  his  classmates  shouted  their 
approval  of  the  popular  choice. 

"Yea!" 

"  Rogers ! " 

"  First  man  for  Keys." 

"  Rogers  for  Keys  !  " 

Stover  set  out  for  a  rush  in  the  direction  of  the  shout, 
tossed  and  buffeted  in  the  scramble.  At  every  moment, 
now,  a  cry  went  up  as  the  elections  proceeded  rapidly. 
From  time  to  time  he  found  Le  Baron,  and  shouted  to 
him  his  report.  He  saw  men  he  knew  tearing  back  and 
forth,  Hunter  driven  out  of  his  pose  of  calm  for  once, 
little  Schley,  hysterical  almost,  running  to  and  fro.  At 
times  the  slap  was  given  near  him,  and  he  caught  the 
sudden  realization,  a  look  in  the  face  that  was  not  good 
to  have  seen.  It  was  all  like  a  stampede,  some  panic,  a 
sudden  shipwreck,  when  every  second  was  precious  and, 


208  STOVER    AT    YALE 

once  gone,  gone  forever ;  where  the  agony  was  in  the  face 
of  the  weak-hearted  and  a  few  stoically  stood  smiling  at 
the  waiting  gulf. 

The  elections  began  to  be  exhausted  and  the  writing  on 
the  wall  to  stare  some  in  the  face.  Then  something  hap 
pened  ;  a  cry  went  up  and  a  little  circle  formed  under  one 
of  the  trees,  while  back  came  the  rumor : 

"  Some  one's  fainted." 

"  Man's  gone  under." 

"Who?" 

"Who  is  it?" 

"  Franklin." 

"No,  no;  Henderson." 

"You  don't  say  so!" 

"  Fainted  dead  away.     Missed  out  for  Bones." 

All  at  once  another  shout  went  up  —  a  shout  of  amaze 
ment  and  incredulity.  A  great  sensation  spread  every 
where.  The  Bones  list  had  now  reached  thirteen;  only 
two  more  to  be  given,  and  Allison  of  the  crew,  Dudley, 
and  Harvey,  chairman  of  the  News,  all  rated  sure  men, 
were  left.  Who  was  to  be  rejected?  Stover  fought  his 
way  to  where  the  three  were  standing  white  and  silent, 
surrounded  by  the  gaping  crowd.  Some  one  caught  his 
arm.  It  was  Le  Baron,  beside  himself  with  excitement, 
saying : 

"  Good  God,  Dink !  you  don't  suppose  they're  going  to 
turn  down  Harvey  or  Allison  ?  " 

Almost  before  the  words  were  uttered  something  had 
happened.  A  slap  resounded  and  the  sharp  command : 

"  Go  to  your  room !  " 

Then  the  cry: 

"  Harvey !  " 

"  Harvey's  tapped !  " 

"  Only  one  place  left." 


STOVERATYALE 

"  Good  heavens !  " 
"  Who's  to  go  down?" 
"  It's  impossible  I  " 

Dudley  and  Allison,  prospective  captains,  room-mates 
from  school  days  at  Andover,  were  left,  and  between  them 
balancing  the  fates.  A  hush  fell  in  the  crowd,  awed  at 
the  unusual  spectacle  of  a  Yale  captain  marked  for  re 
jection.  Then  Dudley,  smiling,  put  out  his  hand  and 
said  in  a  clear  voice : 

"  Joe,  one  of  us  has  got  to  walk  the  plank.  Here's 
luck!" 

Allison's  hand  went  out  in  a  firm  grip,  smiling  a  little, 
too,  as  he  answered : 

"  No,  no ;  you're  all  right !     You're  sure." 

"  Here  he  is." 

"  Last  man  for  Bones." 

"  Here  he  comes !  " 

The  crowd  massed  at  the  critical  point  fell  back,  open 
ing  a  lane  to  where  Allison  and  Dudley  waited,  throwing 
back  their  shoulders  a  little,  to  meet  the  man  who  came 
straight  to  them,  pale  with  the  importance  of  the  deci 
sion  that  had  been  given  him.  He  reached  Dudley, 
passed,  and,  seizing  Allison  by  the  shoulder,  almost 
knocked  him  down  by  the  force  of  his  slap.  Pande 
monium  broke  loose : 

"It's  Allison!" 

"  No ! " 

"  Yes." 

"  What,  they've  left  out  Dudley?  " 

"  Missed  out." 

"Impossible!" 

"  Fact." 

"  Hi,  Jack,  Dudley's  missed  out !  " 

"  Dudley,  the  football  captain !  " 


210  STOVERATYALE 

"What  the  devil!" 

"  For  the  love  of  heaven !  " 

"  Why,  Dudley's  the  best  in  the  world !  " 

"  Sure  he  is." 

"  It's  a  shame." 

"  An  outrage." 

"  They've  done  it  just  to  show  they're  independent." 

Across  the  campus  toward  Vanderbilt,  Allison  and  the 
last  Bones  man,  in  tandem,  were  streaking  like  water 
insects.  Le  Baron,  holding  on  to  Stover,  was  cursing  in 
broken  accents.  But  Dink  heard  him  only  indistinctly; 
he  was  looking  at  Dudley.  The  pallor  had  left  his  face, 
which  was  a  little  flushed;  the  head  was  thrown  back 
proudly;  and  the  lips  were  set  in  a  smile  that  answered 
the  torrent  of  sympathy  and  regret  that  was  shouted  to 
him.  The  last  elections  to  Keys  and  Wolf's-Head  were 
forgotten  in  the  stir  of  the  incredible  rejection. 

Then  some  one  shrieked  out  for  a  cheer,  and  the  roar 
went  over  the  campus  again  and  again. 

Dudley,  always  with  the  same  smile  and  shining  eyes, 
made  his  way  slowly  across  toward  Vanderbilt,  hugged, 
patted  on  the  back,  his  hand  wrung  frantically  by  those 
who  swarmed  about  him.  Stover  was  at  his  side,  every 
thing  forgotten  but  the  drama  of  the  moment,  cheering 
and  shouting,  seeing  with  a  sort  of  wonder  a  little  spec 
tacled  grind  with  blazing  eyes  shaking  hands  with  Dud 
ley,  crying : 

"  It's  a  crime  —  a  darned  crime !  We  all  think  so, 
all  of  us!" 

For  half  an  hour  the  college,  moved  as  it  had  never 
been,  stood  huddled  below  Dudley's  rooms,  cheering  it 
self  hoarse.  Then  slowly  the  crowd  began  to  melt  away. 

"  Come  on,  Dink,"  said  Hungerford,  who  had  him  by 
the  arm. 


STOVER    AT    YALE  211 

"  Oh,  is  that  you,  Joe  ?  "  said  Dink,  seeing  him  for  the 
first  time.  "  Isn't  it  an  outrage  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  it." 

"  By  George,  wasn't  he  fine,  though  ?  " 

"  He  certainly  was  !  " 

"  I  was  right  by  him.     He  never  flinched  a  second." 

"  Dink,  the  whole  thing  is  terrible,"  said  Hungerford, 
his  sensitive  face  showing  the  pain  of  the  emotions  he 
had  undergone.  "  I  don't  think  it's  right  to  put  fellows 
through  such  a  test  as  that." 

"  You  don't  believe  in  Tap  Day?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

Their  paths  crossed  Regan's  and  they  halted,  each 
wondering  what  that  unusual  character  had  thought  of  it 
all. 

"  Hello,  Tom." 

"Hello,  Joe;  hello,  Dink." 

"Tough  about  Dudley,  isn't  it?" 

"How  so?" 

"  Why,  missing  out !  " 

"  Perhaps  it's  Bones's  loss,"  said  Regan  grimly. 
"Dudley's  all  right.  He's  lucky.  He's  ten  times  the 
man  he  was  this  morning." 

Neither  Hungerford  nor  Stover  answered. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  — Tap  Day?  "  said  Hunger- 
ford,  after  a  moment. 

"  The  best  thing  in  the  whole  society  system,"  said 
Regan,  with  extra  warmth. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  darned !  "  said  Stover,  in  genuine  sur 
prise.  "  I  thought  you'd  be  for  abolishing  it." 

"  Never !  If  you're  going  through  three  years  afraid 
to  call  your  souls  your  own,  why,  you  ought  to  stand 
out  before  every  one  and  take  what's  coming  to  you. 
That's  my  idea." 


STOVERATYALE 

He  bobbed  his  head  and  went  on  toward  Commons. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Hunger  ford  solemnly.  "  It's  a 
horror;  I  wish  I  hadn't  seen  it." 

"I'm  glad  I  did,"  said  Stover  slowly.  "They  cer 
tainly  baptize  us  in  fire  up  here."  He  remembered  Mc 
Carthy  with  a  new  understanding  and  repeated :  "  We 
certainly  learn  how  to  take  our  medicine  up  here,  Joe. 
It's  a  good  deal  to  learn." 

They  wandered  back  toward  the  now  quiet  fence. 
All  the  crowding  and  the  stirring  was  gone,  and  over  all 
a  strange  silence,  the  silence  of  exhaustion.  The  year 
was  over;  what  would  come  afterward  was  inconse 
quential. 

"I  wonder  if  it's  all  worth  it?"  said  Hungerford 
suddenly. 

Stover  did  not  answer;  it  was  the  question  that  was 
in  his  own  thoughts.  What  he  had  seen  that  afternoon 
was  still  too  vivid  in  his  memory.  He  tried  to  shake 
it  off,  but,  with  the  obsession  of  a  fetish,  it  clung  to  him. 
He  understood  now,  not  that  he  would  yield  to  the  emo 
tion,  but  the  fear  of  judgment  that  swayed  men  he  knew, 
and  what  Regan  had  meant  when  he  had  referred  to 
those  who  did  not  dare  to  call  their  souls  their  own. 

"  It  does  get  you,"  he  said,  at  last,  to  Hungerford. 

"  It  does  me,"  said  Hungerford  frankly,  "  and  I  sup 
pose  it'll  get  worse." 

"I  wonder?" 

He  was  silent,  thinking  of  the  year  that  had  passed, 
wondering  if  the  next  would  bring  him  the  same  disci 
pline  and  the  same  fatigue,  and  if  at  the  end  of  the  three 
years'  grind,  if  such  should  be  his  lot,  he  could  stand  up 
like  Dudley  before  the  whole  college  and  take  his  medi 
cine  with  a  smile. 


CHAPTER  XV 

XT7HEN  Stover  returned  after  the  summer  vacation 
VV  to  the  full  glory  of  a  sophomore,  he  had  changed 
in  many  ways.  The  consciousness  of  success  had  given 
him  certain  confidence  and  authority,  which,  if  it  was 
more  of  the  manner  than  real,  nevertheless  was  notice 
able.  He  had  aged  five  or  six  years,  as  one  ages  at  that 
time  under  the  grave  responsibilities  of  an  exalted  leader 
ship. 

A  great  change  likewise  had  come  in  his  plans.  Dur 
ing  the  summer  Tough  McCarthy's  father  had  died,  and 
Tough  had  been  forced  to  forego  his  college  course  and 
take  up  at  once  the  seriousness  of  life.  Several  offers 
had  been  made  Dink  to  go  in  with  Hungerford,  Tommy 
Bain,  and  others  of  his  crowd,  but  he  had  decided  to 
room  by  himself,  for  a  time  at  least.  The  decision  had 
come  to  him  as  the  result  of  a  growing  feeling  of  rest 
lessness,  an  instinctive  desire  to  be  by  himself  and  know 
again  that  shy  friend  Dink  Stover,  who  somehow  seemed 
to  have  slipped  away  from  him. 

Much  to  his  surprise,  this  feeling  of  restlessness  domi 
nated  all  other  emotions  on  his  victorious  return  to  col 
lege.  He  felt  strangely  alone.  Every  one  in  the  class 
greeted  him  with  rushing  enthusiasm,  inquired  critically 
of  his  weight  and  condition,  and  passed  on.  His  progress 
across  the  campus  was  halted  at  every  moment  by  ac 
claiming  groups,  who  ran  to  him,  pumping  his  hand, 
slapping  him  on  the  back,  exclaiming: 

"  You,  old  Dink  Stover !  " 


STOVER    AT    YALE 

"  Bless  your  heart." 

"  Put  it  there." 

"  Glad  to  see  you  again." 

"How  are  you?" 

"You  look  fit  as  a  fiddle!" 

"  The  Ail-American  this  year !  " 

"  Hard  luck  about  McCarthy." 

"  Ta-ta." 

His  was  the  popular  welcome,  and  yet  it  left  him  un 
satisfied,  with  a  strange  tugging  at  his  heart.  They  were 
all  acquaintances,  nothing  more.  He  went  to  his  room 
on  the  second  floor  in  Lawrence,  and,  finding  his  way 
over  the  bare  floor  and  the  boxes  that  encumbered, 
reached  the  window  and  flung  it  open. 

Below  the  different  fences  had  disappeared  under  the 
joyful,  hilarious  groups  that  swarmed  about  them.  He 
saw  Swazey  and  Pike,  two  of  the  grinds  of  his  own  class, 
men  who  "  didn't  count,"  go  past  hugging  each  other, 
and  their  joy,  comical  though  it  was,  hurt  him.  He 
turned  from  the  window,  saying  aloud,  sternly,  as  though 
commanding  himself: 

"  Come,  I  must  get  this  hole  fixed  up.  It's  gloomy  as 
the  devil." 

He  worked  feverishly,  ripping  apart  the  covers,  rang 
ing  the  furniture,  laying  the  rugs.  Then  he  put  in  order 
his  bedroom,  and,  whistling  loudly,  fished  out  his  bed 
clothes,  laid  the  bed,  and  arranged  his  bureau-top.  That 
done,  he  brought  forth  several  photographs  he  had  taken 
in  the  brief  visit  he  had  paid  the  Storys,  and  placing 
them  in  the  position  of  honor  lit  his  pipe  and,  camping 
on  a  dry-goods  box,  like  Scipio  amid  the  ruins  of  Car 
thage,  dreamily  considered  through  the  smoke-wreaths 
the  distant  snap-shots  of  a  slender  girl  in  white. 

He  was  comfortably,  satisfactorily  in  love  with  Jean 


STOVER    AT    YALE  215 

Story.  The  emotion  filled  a  sentimental  want  in  his 
nature.  He  had  never  asked  her  for  her  photograph  or 
to  correspond,  as  he  would  have  lightly  asked  a  hundred 
other  girls.  He  knew  instinctively  that  she  would  have 
refused.  He  liked  that  in  her  —  her  dignity  and  her 
reserve.  He  wanted  her  regard,  as  he  always  wanted 
what  others  found  difficult  to  attain.  She  was  young 
and  yet  with  an  old  head  on  her  shoulders.  In  the  two 
weeks  he  had  spent  in  camp,  they  had  discussed  much 
together  of  what  lay  ahead  beyond  the  confines  of  college 
life.  He  did  not  always  understand  her  point  of  view. 
He  often  wondered  what  was  the  doubt  that  lay  in  her 
mind  about  him.  For,  though  she  had  given  him  a  meas 
ure  of  her  friendship,  there  was  always  a  reserve,  some 
thing  held  back.  It  was  the  same  with  Bob.  It  puz 
zled  him;  it  irritated  him.  He  was  resolved  to  beat 
down  that  barrier,  to  shatter  it  some  way  and  somehow, 
as  he  was  resolved  that  Jim  Hunter,  whose  intentions 
were  clear,  should  never  beat  him  out  in  this  race. 

He  rose,  pipe  in  mouth,  and,  taking  up  a  photograph, 
stared  at  the  laughing  face  and  the  quiet,  proud  tilt  of 
the  head. 

"  At  any  rate,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  Jim  Hunter  hasn't 
got  any  more  than  this,  and  he  never  will." 

He  went  back  to  the  study,  delving  into  the  packing- 
boxes.  From  below  came  a  stentorian  halloo  he  knew 
well: 

"  Oh,  Dink  Stover,  stick  out  your  head !  " 

"  Come  up,  you,  Tom  Regan,  come  up  on  the  jump !  " 

In  another  moment  Regan  was  in  the  room,  and  his 
great  bear  clutch  brought  Stovtfr  a  feeling  of  warmth 
with  its  genuineness. 

"  Bigger  than  ever,  Tom." 

"  You  look  fine  yourself,  you  little  bantam ! " 


216  STOVERATYALE 

"  Lord,  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you !  " 

"  Same  to  you." 

"  How'd  the  summer  go?  " 

"  Wonderful.  I've  got  four  hundred  tucked  away  in 
the  bank." 

"  You  don't  say  so !  " 

"  Fact." 

Stover  shook  hands  again  eagerly. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  Sure.  Go  on  with  your  unpacking ;  I'll  lend  a  hand. 
I've  had  a  bully  summer." 

"  What's  that  mean  ?  "  said  Stover,  with  a  quizzical 
smile.  "  Working  like  a  slave  ?  " 

"  No,  no ;  seeing  real  people.  I  tried  being  a  conductor 
a  while,  got  in  a  strike,  and  switched  over  to  construction 
work.  Got  to  be  foreman  of  a  gang,  night  shift." 

"  You  don't  mean  out  all  night?  " 

"  Oh,  I  slept  in  the  day.  You  get  used  to  it.  They're 
a  strange  lot,  the  fellows  who  work  while  the  rest  of  you 
sleep.  They  brushed  me  up  a  lot,  taught  me  a  lot. 
Wish  you'd  been  along.  You'd  have  got  some  educa 
tion." 

"  I  may  do  something  of  the  sort  with  you  next  sum 
mer,"  said  Stover  quietly. 

"  They  tell  me  Tough  McCarthy's  not  coming  back." 

"Yes;  father  died." 

"  Too  bad.     Going  to  room  alone  ?  " 

"  For  a  while.  I  want  to  get  away  —  think  things  over 
a  bit,  read  some." 

"  Good  idea,"  said  Regan,  with  one  of  his  sharp  ap 
praising  looks.  "  If  a  man's  given  a  thinker,  he  might 
just  as  well  use  it." 

Hunger  ford  and  Bob  Story  joined  them,  and  the  four 
went  down  to  Mory's  to  take  possession  in  the  name  of 


STOVERATYALE 

the  sophomore  class.  Regan,  to  their  surprise,  making 
one  of  the  party,  paid  as  they  paid,  with  just  a  touch  of 
conscious  pride. 

The  good  resolves  that  Dink  made  to  himself,  under 
the  influence  of  the  acute  emotions  he  had  felt  on  his 
return,  gradually  faded  from  his  memory  as  he  felt  him 
self  caught  up  again  in  the  rush  of  college  life.  He 
found  his  day  marked  out  for  him,  his  companions 
assigned  to  him,  his  standards  and  his  opinions  inherited 
from  his  predecessors.  Insensibly  he  became  a  cog  in 
the  machine.  What  with  football  practise  and  visiting 
the  freshman  class  in  the  interest  of  his  society,  he  found 
he  was  able  to  keep  awake  long  enough  to  get  a  smatter 
ing  of  the  next  day's  work  and  no  more. 

The  class  had  scattered  and  groups  with  clear  ten 
dencies  had  formed,  Hunter  and  Tommy  Bain  the  center 
of  little  camps  serious  and  ambitious,  while  off  the 
campus  in  a  private  dormitory  another  element  was  pur 
suing  mannish  delights  with  the  least  annoyance  from 
the  curriculum. 

The  opposition  to  the  sophomore  societies  had  now 
grown  to  a  college  issue.  Protests  from  the  alumni  be 
gan  to  come  in;  one  of  the  editors  of  the  Lit  made  it 
the  subject  of  his  leader,  while  the  college,  under  the 
leadership  of  rebels  like  Gimbel,  arrayed  itself  in  uncom 
promising  opposition  and  voted  down  every  candi 
date  for  office  that  the  sophomore  societies  placed  in  the 
field. 

That  the  situation  was  serious  and  working  harm  to 
the  college  Stover  saw,  but,  as  the  fight  became  more 
bitter,  the  feeling  of  loyalty,  coupled  with  distrust  of  the 
motives  of  the  assailants,  placed  him  in  the  ranks  of  the 
most  ardent  defenders,  where,  a  little  to  his  surprise,  he 
found  himself  rather  arrayed  with  Tommy  Bain  and  Jim 


218  STOVERATYALE 

Hunter  in  their  position  of  unrelenting  conservatism, 
fighting  the  revolt  which  was  making  head  in  the  society 
itself,  as  Bob  Story  and  Joe  Hungerford  led  the  demand 
for  some  liberal  reform. 

However,  the  conflict  did  not  break  out  until  the  close 
of  the  season.  The  team,  under  the  resolute  leadership 
of  Captain  Dudley,  fought  its  way  to  one  of  those  almost 
miraculous  successes  which  is  not  characteristic  of  the 
Yale  system  as  it  is  the  result  of  the  inspiring  guidance 
of  some  one  extraordinary  personality. 

Regan  went  from  guard  to  tackle,  and  Stover,  back 
at  his  natural  position  of  end,  developed  the  promise  of 
freshman  year,  acclaimed  as  the  All-American  end  of  the 
year.  Still  the  possibility  of  Regan's  challenge  for  the 
captaincy  returned  constantly  to  his  mind,  for  about  the 
big  tackle  was  always  a  feeling  of  confidence,  of  rugged, 
immovable  determination  that  perhaps  in  its  steadying 
influence  had  built  up  the  team  more  than  his  own  indi 
vidual  brilliancy.  Dink,  despite  himself,  felt  the  force 
of  these  masterful  qualities,  acknowledging  them  even 
as,  to  his  displeasure,  he  felt  a  rising  jealousy ;  for  at  the 
bottom  he  was  drawn  more  and  more  to  Regan  as  he 
was  drawn  to  no  other  man. 

About  a  month  after  the  triumphant  close  of  the  foot 
ball  season,  then,  Stover,  in  the  usual  course  of  a  thor 
oughly  uneventful  morning,  rose  as  rebelliously  late  as 
usual,  bolted  his  breakfast,  and  rushed  to  chapel.  He 
was  humanly  elated  with  what  the  season  had  brought, 
a  fame  which  had  gone  the  rounds  of  the  press  of  the 
country  for  unflinching  courage  and  cold  head-work,  but, 
more  than  that,  he  was  pleasantly  satisfied  with  the  diffi 
cult  modesty  with  which  he  bore  his  honors.  For  he 
was  modest.  He  had  sworn  to  himself  he  would  be, 
and  he  was.  He  had  allowed  it  to  make  no  difference  in 


STOVERATYALE  219 

his  relations  with  the  rest  of  the  class.  If  anything,  he 
was  more  careful  to  distribute  the  cordiality  of  his  smile 
and  the  good-natured  "  How  are  you  ?  "  to  all  alike  with 
out  the  slightest  distinction. 

"  How  are  you,  Bill  ?  "  he  said  to  Swazey,  the  strange 
unknown  grind  who  sat  beside  him.  He  called  him  by 
his  first  name  consciously,  though  he  knew  him  no  more 
than  this  slight  daily  contact,  because  he  wished  to  em 
phasize  the  comradeship  and  democracy  of  Yale,  of 
which  he  was  a  leader.  "  Feelin'  fine  this  morning,  old 
gazabo  ?  " 

"  How  are  you  ?  "  said  Swazey  gratefully. 

"Tough  lesson  they  soaked  us,  didn't  they?" 

"  It  was  a  tough  one/' 

"  Suppose  that  didn't  bother  you,  though,  you  old 
valedictorian." 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  did." 

Stover,  settling  comfortably  in  his  seat,  nodded  genially 
to  the  right  and  left. 

"I   say,   Dink." 

"Hello,  what  is  it?" 

"  Drop  in  on  me  some  night." 

"What?"  said  Stover  surprised. 

"  Come  round  and  have  a  chat  sometime,"  said  Swazey, 
in  a  thoroughly  natural  way. 

"  Why,  sure ;  like  to,"  said  Stover  bluffly,  which,  of 
course,  was  the  only  thing  to  say. 

"To-night?" 

"  Sorry ;  I'm.  busy  to-night,"  said  Stover.  Swazey, 
of  course,  being  a  grind,  did  not  realize  the  abhorrent, 
almost  sacrilegious,  social  break  he  was  making  in  invit 
ing  him  on  his  society  evening. 

"  To-morrow,  then?  " 

"  Why,  yes ;  to-morrow." 


STOVER    AT    YALE 

"  I  haven't  been  very  sociable  in  not  asking  you  be 
fore,"  said  Swazey,  in  magnificent  incomprehension,  "  but 
I'd  really  like  to  have  you." 

"  Why,  thankee." 

Stover,  entrapped,  received  the  invitation  with  perfect 
gravity,  although  resolved  to  find  some  excuse. 

But  the  next  day,  thinking  it  over,  he  said  to  himself 
that  it  really  was  his  duty,  and,  reflecting  how  pleased 
Swazey  would  be  to  receive  a  call  from  one  of  his  im 
portance,  he  determined  to  give  him  that  pleasure.  Set 
ting  out  after  supper,  he  met  Bob  Story. 

"  Whither  away  ?  "  said  Story,  stopping. 

"  I'm  going  to  drop  in  on  a  fellow  called  Swazey,"  said 
Stover,  a  little  conscious  of  the  virtue  of  this  act.  "  I  sit 
next  to  him  in  chapel.  He's  a  good  deal  of  a  grind,  but 
he  asked  me  around,  and  I  thought  I'd  go.  You  know  — 
the  fellow  in  our  row." 

'  That's  very  good  of  you,"  said  Story,  with  a  smile 
which  he  remembered  after. 

Stover  felt  so  himself.  Still,  he  had  the  democracy 
of  Yale  to  preserve,  and  it  was  his  duty.  He  went  swing 
ing  on  his  way  with  that  warm,  glowing,  physical  delight 
that,  fortunately,  the  slightest  virtuous  action  is  capable 
of  arousing. 

With  Nathaniel  Pike,  a  classmate,  Swazey  roomed  in 
Divinity  Hall,  where,  attracted  by  the  cheapness  of  the 
rooms,  a  few  of  the  college  had  been  able  to  find  quar 
ters. 

"  Queer  place,"  thought  Dink  to  himself,  eyeing  a  few 
of  the  divinity  students  who  went  slipping  by  him. 
"  Wonder  what  the  deuce  I  can  talk  to  him  about.  Oh, 
well,  I  won't  have  to  stay  long." 

Swazey,  of  course,  being  outside  the  current  of  college 
heroes,  could  have  but  a  limited  view.  He  found  the 


STOVERATYALE 

door  at  the  end  of  the  long  corridor  and  thundered  his 
knock,  as  a  giant  announces  himself. 

"  Come  in  if  you're  good-looking !  "  said  a  piping  voice. 

Stover  entered  with  strongly  accentuated  good  fellow 
ship,  giving  his  hand  with  the  politician's  cordiality. 

"  How  are  you,  Nat  ?     How  are  you,  Bill  ?  " 

He  ensconced  himself  in  the  generous  arm-chair,  which 
bore  the  trace  of  many  masters,  accepted  a  cigar  and 
said,  to  put  his  hosts  at  their  ease: 

"  Bully  quarters  you've  got  here.  Blame  sight  more 
room  than  I've  got." 

Pike,  cap  on,  a  pad  under  his  arm,  apologized  for  going. 

"  Awful  sorry,  Stover ;  darned  inhospitable.  This 
infernal  News  grind.  Hope  y'will  be  sociable  and  stay 
till  I  get  back." 

"  How  are  you  making  out  ?  "  said  Stover,  in  an  en 
couraging,  generous  way. 

Pike  scratched  his  ear,  a  large,  loose  ear,  wrinkling 
up  his  long,  pointed  nose  in  a  grimace,  as  he  answered : 

"  Danged  if  I  don't  think  I'm  going  to  miss  out 
again." 

"  You  were  in  the  first  competition  ?  "  said  Stover,  sur 
prised  —  for  one  trial  was  usually  considered  equivalent 
to  a  thousand  years  off  the  purgatory  account. 

"  Yep,  but  I  was  green  —  didn't  know  the  rules." 

"  Lord,  I  should  think  you'd  have  had  enough !  " 

"  Why,  it's  rather  a  sociable  time.  It  is  a  grind,  but 
I'm  going  to  make  that  News,  if  I  hit  it  all  sophomore 
year." 

"What,  you'd  try  again?" 

"You  bet  I  would!" 

There  was  a  matter-of-fact  simplicity  about  Pike,  un 
couth  as  was  his  dress  and  wide  sombrero,  that  appealed 
to  Stover.  He  held  out  his  hand. 


STOVER    AT    YALE 

"  Good  luck  to  you !  And  say  —  if  I  get  any  news 
I'll  save  it  for  you." 

"  Obliged,   sir  —  ta-ta !  " 

"  Holy  cats ! "  said  Dink,  relapsing  into  the  arm-chair 
as  the  door  banged.  "  Any  one  who'll  stick  at  it  like  that 
gets  all  I  can  give  him." 

"  He's  a  wonderful  person,"  said  Swazey,  drawing  up 
his  chair  and  elevating  his  hobnailed  shoes.  "  Never  saw 
anything  like  his  determination.  Wonderful!  Green  as 
salad  when  he  first  came,  ready  to  tickle  Prexy  under  the 
ribs  or  make  himself  at  home  whenever  a  room  struck 
his  fancy.  But,  when  he  got  his  eyes  open,  you  ought  to 
have  seen  him  pick  up  and  learn.  He's  developed  won 
derfully.  He'll  succeed  in  life." 

Stover  smiled  inwardly  at  this  critical  assumption  on 
Swazey's  part,  but  he  began  to  be  interested.  There  was 
something  real  in  both  men. 

"  Did  you  go  to  school  together  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Lord,  no !  Precious  little  school  either  of  us  got. 
I  ran  up  against  him  when  I  landed  here  —  just  bumped 
together,  as  it  were." 

"You  don't  say  so?" 

"  Fact.  It  was  rather  queer.  We  were  both  up  in  the 
fall  trying  to  throttle  a  few  pesky  conditions  and  slip  in. 
It  was  just  after  Greek  prose  composition  —  cursed  be 
the  memory!  —  when  I  came  out  of  Alumni  Hall,  kick 
ing  myself  at  every  step,  and  found  that  little  rooster 
engaged  in  the  same  process.  Say,  he  was  a  sight  — 
looked  like  a  chicken  had  been  shipped  from  St.  Louis 
to  Chicago  —  but  spunky  as  you  make  'em.  Never  had 
put  a  collar  on  his  neck  —  I  got  him  up  to  that  last  spring ; 
but  he  still  balks  at  a  derby.  So  off  we  went  to  grub, 
and  I  found  he  didn't  know  a  soul.  No  more  did  I.  So 
we  said,  '  WThy  not?'  And  we  did.  We  hunted  up 


STOVER    AT    YALE 

these  quarters,  and  we've  got  on  first-rate  ever  since. 
No  scratching,  gouging,  or  biting.  We've  been  a  good 
team.  I've  seen  the  world,  I've  got  hard  sense,  and  he's 
got  ideas  —  quite  remarkable  ideas.  Danged  if  I'm  not 
stuck  on  the  little  rooster." 

Stover  reached  out  for  the  tobacco  to  fill  a  second  pipe, 
all  his  curiosity  aroused. 

"  I  say,  Dink,"  said  Swazey,  offering  him  a  match, 
"  this  college  is  a  wonderful  thing,  isn't  it  ?  "  He  stood 
reflectively,  the  sputtering  light  of  the  match  illuminating 
his  thoughtful  face.  "  Just  think  of  the  romance  in  it. 
Me  and  Pike  coming  together  from  two  ends  of  the  coun 
try  and  striking  it  up.  That's  what  counts  up  here  — 
the  perfect  democracy  of  it!" 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  said  Stover  in  a  mechanical  way. 
He  was  wondering  what  Swazey  would  think  of  the 
society  system,  or  if  he  even  realized  it  existed,  so  he 
said  curiously: 

"  You  keep  rather  to  yourselves,  though." 

"  Oh,  I  know  pretty  much  what  I  want  to  know  about 
men.  I've  sized  'em  up  and  know  what  sorts  to  reach 
out  for  when  I  want  them.  Now  I  want  to  learn  some 
thing  real."  He  looked  at  Stover  with  a  sort  of  rugged 
superiority  in  his  glance  and  said :  "  I've  earned  my 
own  way  ever  since  I  was  twelve  years  old,  and  some  of 
it  was  pretty  rough  going.  I  know  what's  outside  of  this 
place  and  what  I  want  to  reach.  That's  what  a  lot  of 
you  fellows  don't  worry  about  just  now." 

"  Swazey,  tell  me  about  yourself,"  said  Stover,  sur 
prised  at  his  own  eagerness.  "  By  George,  I'd  like  to 
hear  it !  Why  did  you  come  to  college  ?  " 

"  It  was  an  idea  of  the  governor's,  and  he  got  it  pretty 
well  fixed  in  my  head.  Would  you  like  to  hear?  All 
right."  He  touched  a  match  to  the  kindling,  and,  his 


STOVERATYALE 

coat  bothering  him,  cast  it  off.  "  The  old  man  was  a 
pretty  rough  customer,  I  guess  —  he  died  when  I  was 
twelve;  don't  know  anything  about  any  one  else  in  the 
family.  I  don't  know  just  how  he  picked  up  his  money ; 
we  were  always  moving;  but  I  fancy  he  was  a  good  deal 
of  a  rum  hound  and  that  carried  him  off.  He  always 
had  a  liking  for  books,  and  one  set  idea  that  I  was  to  be 
a  gentleman,  get  to  college  and  get  educated ;  so  I  always 
kept  that  same  idea  in  the  back  of  my  head,  and  here  I 
am." 

"  You  said  you'd  earned  your  living  ever  since  you 
were  twelve,"  said  Stover,  all  interest. 

"  That's  so.  It's  pretty  much  the  usual  story.  Selling 
newspapers,  drifting  around,  living  on  my  wits.  Only 
I  had  a  pretty  shrewd  head  on  my  shoulders,  and  wher 
ever  I  went  I  saw  what  was  going  on  and  I  salted  it  away. 
I  made  up  my  mind  I  wasn't  going  to  be  a  fool,  but  I 
was  going  to  sit  back,  take  every  chance,  and  win  out 
big.  Lord  of  mercy,  though,  I've  seen  some  queer  cor 
ners —  done  some  tough  jobs!  Up  to  about  fifteen  I 
didn't  amount  to  much.  I  was  a  drifter.  I've  worked 
my  way  from  Portland,  Oregon,  to  Portland,  Maine, 
stealing  rides  and  hoofing  it  with  tramps.  I've  scrubbed 
out  bar-rooms  in  Arizona  and  Oklahoma,  and  tended  cat 
tle  in  Kansas  City.  I  sort  of  got  a  wandering  fit,  which 
is  bad  business.  But  each  year  I  tucked  away  a  little 
more  of  the  long  green  than  the  year  before,  and  got  a 
little  more  of  the  juice  of  books.  About  four  years  ago, 
when  I  was  seventeen  —  I'd  saved  up  a  few  hundreds  — • 
I  said  to  myself : 

"  '  Hold  up,  look  here,  if  you're  ever  going  to  do  any 
thing,  it's  about  time  now  to  begin.'  So  I  planted  my 
hoof  out  in  Oklahoma  City  and  I  started  in  to  be  a  useful 
citizen." 


STOVERATYALE 

The  pipe  between  Stover's  lips  had  gone  out,  but  he 
did  not  heed  it.  A  new  life  —  life  itself  —  was  suddenly 
revealing  itself  to  him ;  not  the  guarded  existences  of  his 
own  kind,  but  the  earnest  romance  of  the  submerged 
nine-tenths.  As  Swazey  stopped,  he  said  impulsively, 
directly : 

"  By  George,  Swazey,  I  envy  you !  " 

"  Well,  it's  taught  me  to  size  men  up  pretty  sharply," 
said  Swazey,  continuing.  "  I've  seen  them  in  the  raw, 
I've  seen  them  in  all  sorts  of  tests.  I've  sort  of  got  a 
pretty  guess  what  they'll  do  or  not  do.  Then,  of  course, 
I've  had  a  knack  of  making  money  out  of  what  I  touch  — 
it's  a  gift." 

"  Are  you  working  your  way  through  here  ? "  said 
Stover.  All  feeling  of  patronage  was  gone;  he  felt  as 
if  a  torrent  had  cleared  away  the  dust  and  cobwebs  of 
tradition. 

"  Lord,  no,"  said  Swazey,  smiling.  "  Why,  boy,  I've 
got  a  business  that's  bringing  me  in  between  four  and 
five  thousand  a  year  —  running  itself,  too." 

Stover  sat  up. 

"What!" 

"  I've  got  an  advertising  agency,  specialties  of  all  sorts, 
seven  men  working  under  one.  I  keep  in  touch  every 
day.  Course  I  could  make  more  if  I  was  right  there. 
But  I  know  what  I'm  going  to  do  in  this  world.  I've 
got  my  ideas  for  what's  coming  —  big  ideas.  I'm  going 
to  make  money  hand  over  fist.  That's  easy.  Now  I'm 
getting  an  education.  Here's  the  answer  to  it  all." 

He  drew  out  of  his  pocketbook  a  photograph  and 
passed  it  over  to  Stover. 

"That's  the  best  in  the  world;  that's  the  girl  that 
started  me  and  that's  the  girl  I'm  going  to  marry." 

Dink  took  the  funny  little  photograph  and  gazed  at  it 


226  STOVER    AT    YALE 

with  a  certain  reverence.  It  was  the  face  of  a  girl  pretty 
enough,  with  a  straight,  proud,  reliant  look  in  her  eyes 
that  he  saw  despite  the  oddity  of  the  clothes  and  the  arti 
ficiality  of  the  pose.  He  handed  back  the  photograph. 

"  I  like  her,"  he  said. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Swazey,  handing  him  a  tintype. 

It  was  grotesque,  as  all  such  pictures  are,  with  its 
mingled  sentimentality  and  self-consciousness,  but  Stover, 
did  not  smile. 

"  That's  the  girl  I've  been  working  for  ever  since," 
said  Swazey.  "  The  bravest  little  person  I  ever  struck, 
and  the  squarest.  She  was  waiting  in  a  restaurant  when 
I  happened  to  drop  in,  standing  on  her  own  feet,  asking 
no  favor.  She's  out  of  that  now,  thank  God !  I've  sent 
her  off  to  school." 

Dink  turned  to  him  with  a  start,  amazed  at  the  mat 
ter-of-fact  way  in  which  Swazey  announced  it. 

"  To  school  — "  he  stammered.     "  You've  sent  her." 

"  Sure.  Up  to  a  convent  in  Montreal.  She'll  finish 
there  when  I  finish  here." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Stover,  too  amazed  to  choose  his  meth 
ods  of  inquiry. 

"  Because,  my  boy,  I'm  going  out  to  succeed,  and  I 
want  my  wife  to  know  as  much  as  I  do  and  go  with  me 
where  I  go." 

The  two  sat  silently,  Swazey  staring  at  the  tintype  with 
a  strange,  proud  smile,  utterly  unconscious  of  the  story 
he  had  told,  Stover  overwhelmed  as  if  the  doors  in  a 
great  drama  had  suddenly  swung  open  to  his  intruding 
gaze. 

"  She's  the  real  student,"  said  Swazey  fondly.  "  She 
gets  it  all  —  all  the  romance  of  the  big  things  that  have 
gone  on  in  the  past.  By  George,  the  time'll  come  when 
we'll  get  over  to  Greece  and  Egypt  and  Rome  and  see 


STOVERATYALE  227 

something  of  it  ourselves."  He  put  the  photographs  in 
his  pocketbook  and  rose,  standing,  legs  spread  before  the 
fire,  talking  to  himself.  "  By  George,  Dink,  money  isn't 
what  I'm  after.  I'm  going  to  have  that,  but  the  big 
thing  is  to  know  something  about  everything  that's  real, 
and  to  keep  on  learning.  I've  never  had  anything  like 
these  evenings  here,  browsing  around  in  the  good  old 
books,  chatting  it  over  with  old  Pike  —  he's  got  imagi 
nation.  Give  me  history  and  biography  —  that  inspires 
you.  Say,  I've  talked  a  lot,  but  you  led  me  on.  What's 
your  story  ?  " 

"  My  story  ? "  said  Stover  solemnly.  He  thought  a 
moment  and  then  said :  "  Nothing.  It's  a  blank  and 
I'm  a  blank.  I  say,  Swazey,  give  me  your  hand.  I'm 
proud  to  know  you.  And,  if  you'll  let  me,  I'd  like  to 
come  over  here  oftener." 

He  went  from  the  room,  with  a  sort  of  empty  rage, 
transformed.  Before  him  all  at  once  had  spread  out  the 
vision  of  the  nation,  of  the  democracy  of  lives  of  striving 
and  of  hope.  He  had  listened  as  a  child  listens.  He 
went  out  bewildered  and  humble.  For  the  first  time 
since  he  had  come  to  Yale,  he  had  felt  something  real. 
His  mind  and  his  imagination  had  been  stirred,  awak 
ened,  hungry,  rebellious. 

He  turned  back,  glancing  from  the  lights  on  the  campus 
to  the  room  he  had  left  —  a  little  splotch  of  mellow  mean 
ing  on  the  somber  cold  walls  of  Divinity,  and  then  turned 
into  the  emblazoned  quadrangle  of  the  campus,  with  its 
tinkling  sounds  and  feverish,  childish  ambitions. 

"  Great  heavens !  and  I  went  there  as  a  favor,"  he  said. 
"  What  under  the  sky  do  I  know  about  anything  —  little 
conceited  ass ! " 

He  went  towards  his  entry  and,  seeing  a  light  in  Bob 
Story's  room,  suddenly  hallooed. 


STOVER    AT    YALE 

"  Oh,  Bob  Story,  stick  out  your  head." 

"  Hello,  yourself.     Who  is  it?  " 

"  It's  me.     Dink." 

"  Come  on  up." 

"  No,  not  to-night." 

"What  then?"  ' 

"  Say,  Bob,  I  just  wanted  you  to  know  one  thing." 

"What?" 

"  I'm  just  a  plain  damn  fool;  do  you  get  that?" 

"What  the  deuce?" 

"  Just  a  plain  damn  fool  —  good-night !  " 

And  he  went  to  his  room,  locked  the  door  to  all  visitors, 
pulled  an  arm-chair  before  the  fire,  and  sat  staring  into 
it,  as  solemn  as  the  wide-eyed  owls  on  the  casters. 


THE  hours  that  Dink  Stover  sat  puffing  his  pipe  be 
fore  the  yellow-eyed  owls  that  blinked  to  him  from 
the  crackling  fireplace  were  hours  of  revolution.  His 
imagination,  stirred  by  the  recital  of  Swazey's  life,  re 
turned  to  him  like  some  long-lost  friend.  Sunk  back  in 
his  familiar  arm-chair,  his  legs  extended  almost  to  the 
reddening  logs,  his  arms  braced,  he  seemed  to  see  through 
the  conjuring  clouds  of  smoke  that  rose  from  his  pipe  the 
figures  of  a  strange  self,  the  Dink  Stover  who  had  fought 
his  way  to  manhood  in  the  rough  tests  of  boarding-school 
life,  the  Dink  Stover  who  had  arrived  so  eagerly,  whose 
imagination  had  leaped  to  the  swelling  masses  of  that 
opening  night  and  called  for  the  first  cheer  in  the  name 
of  the  whole  class. 

That  figure  was  stranger  to  him  than  the  stranger  in 
his  own  entry.  Together  they  sat  looking  into  each 
other's  eyes,  in  shy  recognition,  while  overhead  on  every 
quarter-hour  the  bell  from  Battell  Chapel  announced  the 
march  toward  midnight.  Several  times,  as  he  sat 
plunged  in  reverie,  a  knock  sounded  imperiously  on  the 
locked  door;  but  he  made  no  move.  Once  from  the 
campus  below  he  heard  Dopey  McNab's  gleeful  voice 
mingling  with  the  deep  bass  of  Buck  Waters: 

"  Oh,  father  and  mother  pay  all  the  bills, 
And  we  have  all  the  fun. 
That's  the  way  we  do  in  college  life. 
Hooray!" 

229 


230  STOVER    AT    YALE 

For  a  moment  the  song  was  choked,  and  then  he  heard 
it  ring  in  triumphant  crescendo  as  the  two  came  up  his 
steps,  pounding  out  the  rhythm  with  enthusiastic  feet. 
Before  his  door  they  came  to  a  stop,  sang  the  chorus  to  a 
rattling  accompaniment  of  their  fists,  and  exclaimed: 

"Oh,  Dink  Stover,  open  up!" 

Receiving  no  response,  they  consulted- 

"  Why,  the  geezer  isn't  in." 

"  Let's  break  down  the  door." 

"  What  right  has  he  to  be  out?  " 

"  Is  there  any  one  else  we  can  annoy  around  here  ?  " 

"  Bob  Story  is  in  the  next  entry." 

"  Lead  me  to  him." 

"  About  face !  " 

"  March ! " 

"  Oh,  father  and  mother  pay  all  the  bills, 
And  we  have  all  the  fun: 
That's  the  way  we  do  — " 

The  sound  died  out.  Upstairs  a  piano  took  up  the 
refrain  in  a  thin,  syncopated  echo.  From  time  to  time  a 
door  slammed  in  his  entry,  or  from  without  the  faint 
halloo : 

"  Oh,  Jimmy,  stick  out  your  head." 

Dink,  shifting,  poked  another  log  into  place  and  re 
turned  longingly  to  his  reverie.  He  could  not  get  from 
his  mind  what  Swazey  had  told  him.  His  imagination 
reconstructed  the  story  that  had  been  given  in  such  bare 
detail,  thrilling  at  the  struggle  and  the  drama  he  per 
ceived  back  of  it.  It  was  all  undivined.  When  he  had 
thought  of  his  classmates,  he  had  thought  of  them  in 
a  matter-of-fact  way  as  lives  paralleling  his  own. 

"  Wonder  what  Regan's  story  is  —  the  whole  story  ?  " 


STOVERATYALE  231 

he  thought  musingly.  "  And  Pike  and  all  the  rest  of  — " 
He  hesitated,  and  then  added,  " — of  the  fellows  who 
don't  count." 

He  had  heard  but  one  life,  but  that  had  disclosed  the 
vista  of  a  hundred  paths  that  here  in  his  own  class,  hidden 
away,  should  open  on  a  hundred  romances.  He  felt,  with 
a  sudden  realization  of  the  emptiness  of  his  own  life,  a 
new  zest,  a  desire  to  go  out  and  seek  what  he  had  ignored 
before. 

He  left  the  fire  suddenly,  dug  into  his  sweater,  and 
flung  a  great  ulster  about  him.  He  went  out  and  across 
the  chilly  campus  to  the  very  steps  where  he  had  gone 
with  Le  Baron  on  his  first  night,  drawing  up  close  to 
the  wall  for  warmth.  And  again  he  thought  of  the  other 
self,  the  boyish,  natural  self,  the  Dink  Stover  who  had 
first  come  here. 

What  had  become  of  him?  Of  the  two  selves  it  was 
the  boy  who  alone  was  real,  who  gave  and  received  in 
friendship  without  hesitating  or  appraising.  He  recalled 
all  the  old  schoolmates  with  their  queer  nicknames  —  the 
Tennessee  Shad,  Doc  MacNooder,  the  Triumphant  Egg 
head,  and  Turkey  Reiter.  There  had  been  no  division 
there  in  that  spontaneous  democracy,  and  the  Dink  Stover 
who  had  won  his  way  to  the  top  had  never  sought  to 
isolate  himself  or  curb  any  natural  instinct  for  skylark 
ing,  or  sought  a  reason  for  a  friendship. 

"  Good  Lord !  "  he  said,  almost  aloud,  "  in  one  whole 
year  what  have  I  done?  I  haven't  made  one  single 
friend,  known  what  one  real  man  was  doing  or  thinking, 
done  anything  I  wanted  to  do,  talked  out  what  I  wanted 
to  talk,  read  what  I  wanted  to  read,  or  had  time  to  make 
the  friends  I  wanted  to  make.  I've  been  nothing  but 
material  —  varsity  material  —  society  material ;  I've  lost 
all  the  imagination  I  had,  and  know  less  than  when  I 


STOVER    AT    YALE 

came ;  and  I'm  the  popular  man  — '  the  big  man  ' —  in 
the  class !  Great !  Is  it  my  fault  or  the  fault  of  things 
tip  here?" 

Where  had  it  all  gone  —  that  fine  zest  for  life,  that 
eagerness  to  know  other  lives  and  other  conditions,  that 
readiness  for  whole-souled  comradeship  with  which  he 
had  come  to  Yale?  Where  was  the  pride  he  had  felt  in 
the  democracy  of  the  class,  when  he  had  swung  amid 
the  torches  and  the  cheers  past  the  magic  battlements  of 
the  college,  one  in  the  class,  with  the  feeling  in  the  ranks 
of  a  consecrated  army  gathered  from  the  plains  and  the 
mountains,  the  cities  and  villages  of  the  nation,  conse 
crated  to  one  another,  to  four  years  of  mutual  under 
standing  that  would  form  an  imperishable  bond  wherever 
on  the  face  of  the  globe  they  should  later  scatter  ?  And, 
thinking  of  all  this  young  imagination  that  somehow  had 
dried  up  and  withered  away,  he  asked  himself  again  and 
again : 

"Is  it  my  fault?" 

Across  the  campus  Buck  Waters  and  Dopey  McNab, 
returning  from  their  marauding  expedition,  came  singing, 
arm  in  arm: 

"  Ok,  -father  and  mother  pay  all  the  bills, 
And  we  have  all  the  -fun. 
That's  the  way  we  do  in  college  life. 
Hooray!" 

The  two  pagans  passed  without  seeing  him,  gloriously, 
boyishly  happy  and  defiant,  and  the  rollicking  banter 
recalled  in  bleak  contrast  all  the  stern  outlines  of  the 
lives  of  seriousness  he  had  felt  for  the  first  time. 

At  first  he  revolted  at  the  extremes.  Then  he  consid 
ered.  Even  their  life  and  their  point  of  view  was  some- 


STOVER    AT    YALE 

thing  unknown.  It  was  true  he  was  only  a  part  of  the 
machine  of  college,  one  of  the  wheels  that  had  to  revolve 
in  its  appointed  groove.  He  had  thought  of  himself 
always  as  one  who  led,  and  suddenly  he  perceived  that 
it  was  he  who  followed. 

A  step  sounded  by  him,  and  the  winking  eye  of  a 
pipe.  Some  one  unaware  of  his  tenancy  approached  the 
steps.  Stover,  in  a  flare-up  of  the  tobacco,  recognized 
him. 

"  Hello,  Brockhurst,"  he  said. 

"  Hello,"  said  the  other,  hesitating  shyly. 

"  It's  Stover,"  said  Dink.  "  What  are  you  doing  this 
time  of  night  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  prowl  around,"  said  Brockhurst,  shifting  from 
one  foot  to  the  other. 

"  Sit  down." 

"  Not  disturbing  you  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Stover,  pleased  at  this  moment  at 
the  awe  he  evidently  inspired.  "  I  got  sort  of  restless ; 
thought  I'd  come  out  here  and  smoke  a  pipe.  Amusing 
old  spot." 

"I  like  it,"  said  Brockhurst.  Then  he  added  tenta 
tively  :  "  You  get  the  feeling  of  it  all." 

"  Yes,  that's  so." 

They  puffed  in  unison  a  moment. 

"  You're  hitting  up  a  good  pace  on  that  Lit  competi 
tion,"  said  Dink,  unconscious  of  the  tone  of  patronage 
into  which  he  insensibly  fell. 

"  Pretty  good." 

"  That's  right.     Keep  plugging  away." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Brockhurst,  with  a  little  aggressiveness. 

"  Why,  you  ought  to  make  the  chairmanship,"  said 
Dink,  surprised. 

"Why  should  I?" 


STOVERATYALE 

"Don't  you  want  to?" 

"  There  are  other  things  I  want  more." 

"What?" 

"  To  go  through  here  as  my  own  master,  and  do  myself 
some  good." 

"Hello!" 

Stover  sat  up  amazed  at  hearing  from  another  the 
thoughts  that  had  been  dominant  in  his  own  mind; 
amazed,  too,  at  the  trick  of  association  which  had  put 
into  his  own  mouth  thoughts  against  which  a  moment 
before  he  had  been  rebelling. 

"  That's  good  horse  sense,"  he  said,  to  open  up  the 
conversation.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  do  the  best  thing  a  fellow  can  do  at  our 
age.  I'm  going  to  loaf." 

"  Loaf ! "  said  Dink,  startled  again,  for  the  word  was 
like  treason. 

"  Just  that." 

"  But  you're  not  doing  that.  You're  out  to  make  the 
Lit.  You're  heeling  something,  like  all  the  rest  of  us," 
said  Stover,  who  suddenly  found  himself  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  argument,  revolting  with  a  last  resistance  at 
the  too  bold  statement  of  his  own  rebellion. 

"I'm  not  '  heeling'  the  Lit,"  said  Brockhurst.  His 
shyness  disappeared;  he  spoke  energetically,  interested 
in  what  he  was  saying.  "HI  were,  I  would  make  the 
chairmanship  without  trouble.  I'm  head  and  shoulders 
over  the  rest  here,  and  I  know  it.  As  it  is,  some  per 
sistent  grubber  who  sits  down  two  hours  a  day,  thirty 
days  a  month,  nine  months  of  the  year  for  the  next  two 
years,  who  will  regularly  hand  in  one  essay,  two  stories, 
a  poem,  and  a  handful  of  portfolios  will  probably  beat 
me  out." 


STOVERATYALE  235 

"And  you?" 

"  I  ?  I  write  when  I  have  something  to  write,  because 
I  love  it  and  because  my  ambition  is  to  write." 

"  Still,  that's  not  exactly  loafing." 

"  It  is  from  your  point  of  view,  from  the  college  point 
of  view.  It  isn't  what  I  write  that's  doing  me  any  good." 

"What  then?"  said  Stover,  with  growing  curiosity. 

"  The  browsing  around,  watching  you  other  fellows, 
seeing  your  mistakes." 

"Well,  what  are  they?"  said  Dink,  with  a  certain 
antagonism. 

"  Why,  Stover,  here  are  four  years  such  as  we'll  never 
get  again  —  four  years  to  revel  in ;  and  what  do  you 
fellows  do?  Slave  as  you'll  never  slave  again.  Why, 
you're  working  harder  than  a  clerk  supporting  a  family !  '* 

"  It's  a  good  training." 

"  For  a  certain  type,  yes,  but  a  rather  low  type. 
Thank  you,  I  prefer  to  go  my  own  way,  to  work  out  my 
own  ideas  rather  than  accept  others'.  However,  I'm  a 
crank.  Any  one  who  thinks  differently  here  must  be  a 
crank." 

While  they  were  talking  the  hour  of  twelve  had  struck, 
and  presently  across  the  campus  came  a  mysterious  line 
of  senior  society  men,  marching  silently,  two  by  two, 
returning  to  their  rooms. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that?"  said  Stover,  with  real 
curiosity. 

"  That.  A  colossal  mumbo- jumbo  that  has  got  every 
one  of  you  in  its  grip."  He  paused  a  moment  and  gave 
a  short  laugh.  "  Did  you  ever  stop  to  think,  Stover,  that 
this  fetish  of  society  secrecy  that  is  spread  all  over  this 
Christian,  democratic  nation  is  nothing  but  a  return  of 
idol-worship  ?  " 


STOVERATYALE 

This  idea  was  beyond  Stover,  and  so,  not  comprehend 
ing  it,  he  resented  it.  He  did  not  reply.  Brockhurst, 
perceiving  that  he  had  spoken  too  frankly,  rose. 

"  Well,  I  must  be  turning  in,"  he  said.  "  So  long, 
Stover.  You  go  your  way  and  I'll  go  mine;  some  day 
we'll  talk  it  over  —  four  years  out  of  college." 

"  The  fellow  is  a  crank,"  said  Dink,  going  his  way. 
"  Got  some  ideas,  but  an  extremist.  One  or  two  things 
he  said,  though,  are  true.  I  rather  like  to  get  his  point  of 
view,  but  there's  a  chap  who'll  never  make  friends." 

And  he  felt  again  a  sort  of  resentment,  for,  after  all, 
Brockhurst  was  still  unplaced  according  to  college  stand 
ards,  and  he  was  Stover,  probable  captain,  one  of  those 
rated  sure  for  the  highest  society  honors. 

When  he  awoke  the  next  morning,  starting  rebelliously 
from  his  bed,  his  head  was  heavy,  and  he  did  not  at  first 
remember  the  emotions  of  the  night,  as  sleepily  struggling 
through  his  sweater  he  ran  out  of  his  entry  for  a  hurried 
cup  of  coffee.  Bob  Story  hailed  him: 

"  Hold  up,  you  crazy  man." 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  What  the  deuce  got  into  you  last  night  ?  " 

"  Last  night  ?  "  said  Stover,  rubbing  his  eyes. 

"  You  hauled  me  out  of  bed  to  shout  out  a  lot  of 
crazy  nonsense." 

"  What  did  I  say  ?  "  said  Dink,  trying  to  open  his  eyes. 

"  Nothing  new,"  said  Bob  maliciously.  "  You  said  you 
were  a  plain  damn  fool,  and  were  anxious  for  me  to 
know  it." 

"  Oh,  I  remember." 

"Well?" 

"Well  what?" 

"  Explanations  ?  " 

Stover  did  not  feel  in  the  mood ;  besides,  the  new  ideas 


STOVERATYALE  237 

were  too  big  and  strange.  He  wanted  time  to  understand 
them.  So  he  said: 

"  Why,  Bob,  I  just  woke  up,  that's  all.  I'll  tell  you 
about  it  sometime  —  not  now." 

"All  right,"  said  Story,  with  a  quick  look.  "Drop 
in  soon." 

The  following  night  Stover  again  went  over  to 
Swazey's  rooms.  It  being  Saturday,  one  or  two  men 
had  dropped  in:  Ricketts,  a  down-East  Yankee  who 
recited  in  his  divisions,  a  drawling,  shuffling  stripling  with 
a  lazy,  overgrown  body  and  a  quick,  roving  eye;  Joe 
Lake,  a  short,  rolling,  fluent  Southerner  from  Texas  ; 
and  Bud  Brown,  from  a  small  village  in  Michigan,  one 
of  the  class  debaters  who  affected  a  Websterian  deport 
ment. 

"  I  brought  my  pipe  along,"  said  Stover  genially.  "  Got 
a  place  left  where  I  can  stow  myself?  Hello,  Ricketts. 
Hello,  Lake.  Glad  to  shake  your  hand,  Brown.  How's 
the  old  Nevus  getting  along,  Pike?  By  the  way,  I'll  give 
you  a  story  Monday." 

"  Right  in  here,  sir,"  said  Lake,  making  room. 

A  couple  of  stout  logs  were  roaring  in  the  fireplace, 
before  which,  propped  up  with  cushions,  the  majority  of 
the  company  were  sprawling.  Stover  took  his  place, 
filling  his  pipe.  His  arrival  brought  a  little  constraint; 
the  conversation,  which  had  been  at  fever  pitch  as  he 
stood  rapping  at  the  door,  dwindled  to  desultory  remarks 
on  inconsequential  things. 

"  Well  JLcertajnly_  am  among  the  fruits  of  the  class," 
thought  Stover,  eyeing  the  rather  shaggy  crowd,  where 
sweaters  and  corduroys  predominated  and  ihe-,  razot-had 
pagsed  jn^t 


In  the  midst  of  this  hesitation,  Regan's  heavy  frame 
crowded  the  doorway,  accompanied  by  Brbckhurst.     Both 


238  STOVERATYALE 

were  surprised  at  Stover's  unaccustomed  presence, 
Brockhurst  looking  at  him  with  a  little  suspicion,  Regan 
shaking  his  hand  with  new  cordiality. 

"Have  you,  too,  joined  the  deb.atinj^j;jrcie ? "  he 
said,  crowding  into  a  place  by  Stover  and  adjusting  the 
fire  with  a  square-toed  boot. 

"  Debating  circle  ?  "  said  Stover,  surprised. 

"  Why,  this  is  the  verbal  prize  ring  of  the  college," 
said  Regan,  laughing.  "  We  settle  everything  here,  from 
the  internal  illnesses  of  the  university  to  the  external 
manifestations  of  the  universe.  Pike  can  tell  you  every 
thing  that  is  going  to  happen  in  the  next  fifty  years,  and 
so  can  Brocky  —  only  they  don't  agree.  I'm  around  to 
get  them  out  of  clinches." 

"  Reckon  you  get  rather  heated  up  yourself,  some 
times,  Tom,"  said  Lake. 

"  Oh,  I  jump  in  myself  when  I  get  tired  of  listening." 

Swazey,  Lake,  Ricketts,  and  Brown  in  one  corner  in 
stalled  themselves  for  a  session  at  the  national  game, 
appropriating  the  lamps,  and  leaving  the  region  about  the 
fireplace  to  be  lit  by  occasional  gleams  from  the  fitful 
hickories. 

Brockhurst,  the  champion  of  individualism,  was  soon 
launched  on  his  favorite  topic. 

"  The  great  fault  of  the  American  nation,  which  is  the 
fault  of  republics,  is  the  reduction  of  everything  to  the 
average.  Our  universities  are  simply  the  expression  of 
the  forces  that  are  operating  outside.  We  are  business 
colleges  purely  and  simply,  because  we  as  a  nation  have 
only  one  ideal  —  the  business  ideal." 

"  That's  a  big  statement,"  said  Regan. 

"  It's  true.  Twenty  years  ago  we  had  the  ideal  of  the 
lawyer,  of  the  doctor,  of  the  statesman,  of  the  gentleman, 
of  the  man  of  letters,  of  the  soldier.  Now  the  lawyer 


STOVERATYALE  239 

is  simply  a  supernumerary  enlisting  under  any  banner 
for  pay;  the  doctor  is  overshadowed  by  the  specialist 
with  his  business  development  of  the  possibilities  of  the 
rich ;  we  have  politicians,  and  politics  are  deemed  impos 
sible  for  a  gentleman;  the  gentleman  cultured,  simple, 
hospitable,  and  kind,  is  of  the  dying  generation ;  the  sol 
dier  is  simply  on  parade." 

"Wow!"  said  Ricketts,  jingling  his  chips.  "They're 
off." 

"  Everything  has  conformed  to  business,  everything 
has  been  made  to  pay.  Art  is  now  a  respectable  career 
—  to  whom?  To  the  business  man.  Why?  Because  a 
profession  that  is  paid  $3,000  to  $5,000  a  portrait  is  no 
longer  an  art,  but  a  blamed  good  business.  The  man 
who  cooks  up  his  novel  according  to  the  weakness  of 
his  public  sells  a  hundred  thousand  copies.  Dime  novel  ? 
No;  published  by  our  most  conservative  publishers  — 
one  of  our  leading  citizens.  He  has  found  out  that 
scribbling  is  a  new  field  of  business.  He  has  convinced 
the  business  man.  He  has  made  it  pay." 

"  Three  cards,"  said  Swazey's  voice.  "  Well,  Brocky, 
what's  your  remedy  ?  " 

"  A  smashing  war  every  ten  years,"  said  Brockhurst 
shortly. 

"  Why,  you  bloody  butcher,"  said  Regan,  who  did  not 
seize  the  idea,  while  from  the  card-table  came  the  chorus : 

"  Hooray,  Brocky,  go  it !  " 

"  That's  the  way !  " 

"  You're  in  fine  form  to-night !  " 

"  And  why  a  war  ? "  said  Pike,  beginning  to  take 
notice. 

"  A  war  has  two  positive  advantages,"  said  Brockhurst. 
"  It  teaches  discipline  and  obedience,  which  we  pro 
foundly  need,  and  it  holds  up  a  great  ideal,  the  ideal  of 


240  STOVER    AT    YALE 

heroism,  of  sacrifice  for  an  ideal.  In  times  of  war  young 
men  such  as  we  are  are  inspired  by  the  figures  of  mili 
tary  leaders,  and  their  imaginations  are  stirred  to  noble 
desires  by  the  word  '  country/  Nowadays  what  is  held 
up  to  us  ?  Go  out  —  succeed  —  make  money/' 

"  That's  true,  a  good  deal  true,"  said  Regan  abruptly. 
"  And  the  only  remedy,  the  only  way  to  fight  the  busi 
ness  deal,  is  to  interest  young  men  in  politics,  to  make 
them  feel  that  there  are  the  new  battle-fields/' 

"  Now  Tom's  in  it,"  said  Lake,  threshing  the  cards 
through  his  fingers.  At  the  card-table  the  players  began 
to  listen,  motioning  with  silent  gestures. 

"  I  am  off,"  said  Regan,  bending  forward  eagerly  and 
striking  his  fist  against  his  open  hand.  "  That's  the  one 
great  thing  our  colleges  should  stand  for ;  they  ought  to 
be  great  political  hotbeds." 

"  And  they're  not,"  said  Brockhurst  shortly.  $ 

"  The  more's  the  pity,"  said  Regan.  "  There  I'm  with 
you.  They  don't  represent  the  nation :  they  don't  repre 
sent  what  the  big  masses  are  feeling,  fighting,  striving 
for.  By  George,  when  I  think  of  the  opportunity,  of 
what  this  place  could  mean,  what  it  was  meant  to  mean ! 
Why,  every  year  we  gather  here  from  every  State  in  the 
Union  a  picked  lot,  with  every  chance,  with  a  wonderful 
opportunity  to  seek  out  and  know  what  the  whole  coun 
try  needs,  to  be  fired  with  the  same  great  impulses,  to  go 
out  and  fight  together — "  He  stopped  clumsily  in  the 
midst  of  a  sentence,  and  flung  back  his  hair,  frowning. 
"  Good  government,  independent  thinking,  the  love  of 
the  fight  for  the  right  thing  ought  to  begin  here  —  the 
enthusiasm  of  it  all.  Hang  it,  I  can't  express  it ;  but  the 
idea  is  immense,  and  no  one  sees  it." 

"I   see  it,"   said   Pike.     "That's   my   ambition.     I'm 


STOVERATYALE 

going  back;  I'm  going  to  own  my  own  newspaper  some 
day,  and  fight  for  it." 

*  '  BuU  why^  donj  the  universities   reflect  what's  out  o 
thejre?  "  said  Regan  with  a  gesture. 

"  Because,  to  make  it  as  it  should  be,  and  as  it  w_as^  3 
a  live  center  of  political   discussion,"   said  Brockhurst, 
"  you've  got  to  give  the  individual  a  chance,  break  through 
this   tyranny  of   the  average,  get   away   from  business. 
ideas." 

"  Just  what  do  you  mean  when  you  say  we  are  noth 
ing  but  a  business  college?"  said  Stover,  preparing  to 
resist  any  explanation.  He  understood  imperfectly  what 
Regan  was  advocating.  Politics  meant  to  him  a  sort  of 
hereditary  division  ;  what  new  forces  were  at  work  he 
completely  ignored,  though  resolved  on  enlightenment. 
B  rockhuj^t's^attack  on  the__organization  of  the  college 
was^gersonal,  and  he  felLthat  his  own 


the  sophomore  society  was  aimed  at. 

"  I  mean  this,"  said  Brockhurst,  speaking  slowly  in 
the  effort  to  express  a  difficult  thought.  "  I  hope  I  can 
make  it  clear.  What  would  be  the  natural  thing?  A 
man  goes  to  college.  He  works  as  he  wants  to  work, 
he  plays  as  he  wants  to  play,  he  exercises  for  the  fun 
of  the  game,  he  makes  friends  where  he  wants  to  make 
them,  he  is  held  in  by  no  fear  of  criticism  above,  for 
the  class  ahead  of  him  has  nothing  to  do  with  his  stand 
ing  in  his  own  class.  Everything  he  does  has  the  one 
vital  quality:  it  is  spontaneous.  That  is  the  flame  of 
youth  itself.  Now,  what  really  exists  ?  " 

As  he  paused,  Stover,  unable  to  find  an  opening  for 
dissent,  observed  with  interest  the  attitudes  of  the  lis 
teners  :  Pike,  his  pipe  forgotten  in  the  hollow  of  his 
hand,  was  staring  into  the  fire,  his  forehead  drawn  in 


STOVERATYALE 

difficult  comprehension;  Regan  was  puffing  steady,  me 
thodical  puffs,  nodding  his  head  from  time  to  time.  In 
the  background  Swazey's  earnest  face  was  turned  in  their 
direction,  and  the  cards,  neglected,  were  moving  in  a 
lazy  shuffle;  Brown,  the  debater,  man  of  words  rather 
than  ideas,  was  running  his  fingers  nervously  through 
his  drooping  hair,  chafing  for  the  chance  to  enter  the 
fray;  Lake,  tilted  back,  his  fat  body  exaggerated  under 
the  swollen  rolls  of  his  sweater,  from  which  from  time 
to  time  he  dug  out  a  chip,  kept  murmuring : 
"  Perfectly  correct,  sir ;  perfectly  correct." 
Ricketts,  without  lifting  his  head,  arranged  and  rear 
ranged  his  pile  of  chips,  listening  with  one  ear  cocked, 
deriving  meanwhile  all  the  profit  which  could  be  gained 
from  his  companions'  divided  attention.  Two  things 
struck  Stover  particularly  in  the  group  —  the  rough,  un 
hewn  personal  exteriors,  and  the  quick,  awakened  light 
of  enthusiasm  on  their  faces  while  listening  to  the  ex 
pounding  of  an  idea.  Brockhurst  himself  was  trans 
formed.  All  the  excessive  self -consciousness  which 
irritated  and  repelled  was  lost  in  the  fervor  of  the 
thinker.  He  spoke,  not  as  one  who  discussed,  but  as 
one  who,  consciously  superior  to  his  audience,  announced 
his  conclusions;  and  at  times,  when  most  interested,  he 
seemed  to  be  addressing  himself. 

"  Now,  what  is  the  actual  condition  here  ?  "  He  rose, 
stretching  himself  against  the  mantel,  lighting  a  match 
which  died  out,  as  did  a  half-dozen  others,  unnoticed  on 
his  pipe.  "  I  say  our  colleges  to-f\ny  ^rp  bn  sine.?,?.  Al 
leges  —  Vfllp  mnro  rr^  pprVi^ps,  Because  it  is  more  sen 
sitively  American.  Let's  take  up  any  side  of  our  life 
here.  Begin  with  athletics.  What  has  become  of  Jhe 
natural,  spontaneous  J^^LjxL^ontjs??^ jEsjEJL(f  you  have 
one  of  the  most  perfectly  organized  business  systems  for 


STOVERATYALE 

achieving  a  required  result — (§ucces$.  Football  is  driv 
ing,  slavish  work ;  there  isn't  one  man  in  twenty  who  gets 
any  real  pleasure  out  of  it.  Professional  baseball  is  not 
more  rigorously  disciplined  and  driven  than  our  '  ama 
teur  '  teams.  Add  the  crew  and  the  track.  Play,  the 
fun  of  the  thing  itself,  doesn't  exist;  and  why?  Because 
we  have  made  a  business  out  of  it  all,  and  the  college 
is  scoured  for  material,  just  as  drummers  are  sent  out 
to  bring  in  business. 

"  Take  another  case.  A  man  has  a  knack  at  the  banjo 
or  guitar,. or. has  a  good  voice.  WliaTis''ffie "spontaneous 
thing?^  To  meet  with  other  kindred  spirits  in  informal 
gatheringsjnjone  another's  rooms  or  at  the  fence,  accord 
ing  to  the  whim  of  the  moment.  Instead  what  happens  ? 
You  have  our  university  musical  clubs,  thoroughly  pro 
fessional  organizaH6ns7™Tr""you~are  material,  you  must 
get  out  and  begin  to  work  for  them  —  coach  with  a  pro 
fessional  coach,  make  the  Apollo  clubs,  and,  working  on, 
some  day  in  junior  year  reach  the  varsity  organization 
and  go  out  on  a  professional  tour.  Again  an  organiza 
tion  conceived  on  business  lines. 

"  The  same  is  true  with  the  competition  jpr^pur  reapers : 
the  struggle  for  existence  outside  in  a  business  world 
is  not  one  whit  more  intense  than  the  struggle  to  win 
out  in  the  News  or  Lit  competition.  We  are  like  a  beef 
trust,  with  every  by-product  organized,  down  to  the  last 
possibility.  You  come  to  Yale  —  what  is  said  to  you? 
*  Be  natural,  be  spontaneous,  revel  in  a  certain  free 
dom,  enjoy  a  leisure  you'll  never  get  again,  browse 
around,  give  your  imagination  a  chance,  see  every  one, 
rub  wits  with  every  one,  get  to  know  yourself.' 

"  Is  that  what's  said  ?  No.  What  are  you  told,  in 
stead  ?  '  Here  are  twenty  great  machines  that  need  new 
bolts  and  wheels.  Get  out  and  work.  Work  harder 


STOVERATYALE 

than  the  next  man,  who  is  going  to  try  to  outwork  you. 
And,  in  order  to  succeed,  work  at  only  one  thing.  You 
don't  count  —  everything  for  the  college.'  Regan  says 
the  colleges  don't  represent  the  nation;  I  say  they  don't 
even  represent  the  individual." 

"What  would  you  do?"  said  Brown.  "  Aholish-all 
organkaiionsj  "•  — >  ^-tJ^S&K^ 

"  Absolutely,"  said  Brockhurst,  who  never  recoiled. 

"  What !  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  roJWp  nf 
l8?q_was  a  bigger  thing  than  the  college  of  to-day?  " 

"  My  dear  Brown,  it  isn't  even  debatable,"  said  Brock- 
hurst,  with  a  little  contempt,  for  he  did  not  understand 
nor  like  the  man  of  flowing  words.  "  What  have  we 
to-day  that  is  bigger?  Is  it  this  organization  of  external 
activities?  We  have  more  bricks  and  stones^Jmt  have 
we  the  great  figures  in  the  teaching  staff?  I  grant  you, 
this  is  purely  an  economic  failure  —  but  at  the  bottom 
of  the  whole  thing  compare  the  spirit  inside  the  campus 
now  and  then.  Who  were  the  leaders  then?  The  men 
of  Ijjrams^.  Then  the  college  did  reflect  the  country ;  then 
it  was  a  vital  hotbed  of  political  thought.  To-day  everv- 
thing  that  has  been  developeiLis  outside ^he  campus ;  and 
it's  so  in  every  college.  This  is  the  tendency  —  develop 
ment  away  from  the  campus  at  the  expense  of  the 
campus.  That's  why,  when  you  ask  me  would  I  wipe 
out  our  business. jathletics  and  our  professional  musical 
and  traveling;... dramatic ;  clubs,  I  say,  yes,  absolutely.  I 
would  have  the  limits  of  college  to  be  the  walls  of  the 
campus  itself,  and  we'd  see,  when  men  cease  to  be 
drafted  for  one  grind  or  another,  whether  they  couldn't 
begin  to  meet  to  think  and  to  converse.  However,  that 
brings  up  the  whole  pet  problem  of  education,  and,  I'm 
through  talking.  Go  on,  Pike ;  tell  us  that  we  are,  after 
all,  only  schools  for  character." 


STOVER    AT    YALE  245 

"  Brocky,  you  certainly  are  a  radical  —  a  terrific 
one,"  said  Pike,  shaking  his  head.  Regan,  smoking,  said 
nothing. 

"A  sort  of  red-shirt,  eh?"  said  Brockhurst,  smiling. 

"  You  always  go  off  on  a  tangent." 

"  Well,  there's  a  good  deal  in  what  Brocky  says,"  said 
Regan,  nodding  slowly,  "  about  bringing  us  all  back  into 
the  campus  and  shutting  out  the  world.  It's  the  men 
here,  all  sorts  and  conditions,  that,  after  all,  are  big 
things,  the  vital  thing.  I'm  thinking  over  what  you're 
saying,  Brocky  —  not  that  I  follow  you  altogether,  but 
I  see  what  you're  after  —  I  get  it." 

Stover,  on  the  contrary,  was  aware  of  only  an  antag 
onism,  for  his  instinct  was  always  to  combat  new  ideas. 
There  were  things  in  what  Brockhurst  had  said  that 
touched  him  on  the  quick  of  his  accepted  loyalty.  Then, 
he  could  not  quite  forget  that  in  the  matter  of  his  sopho 
more  society  he  had  rejected  him  as  being  a  little  "  queer." 
So  he  said  rather  acidly: 

"  Brockhurst,  one  question.  If  you  feel  as  you  do, 
why  do  you  stay  here  ?  " 

Brockhurst,  who  had  withdrawn  after  his  outburst,  a 
little  self-conscious  again,  flushed  with  anger  at  this 
question.  But  with  an  effort  he  controlled  himself, 
saying : 

"  Stover  has  not  perceived  that  I  have  been  talking 
of  general  conditions  all  through  the  East;  that  I  am 
not  fool  enough  to  believe  one  Eastern  university  is  dif 
ferent  in  essentials  from  another.  What  I  criticize  here 
I  criticize  in  American  life.  As  to  why  I  remain  at 
Yale,  I  remain  because  I  think,  because,  having  the  ad 
vantages  of  my  own  point  of  view,  I  can  see  clearer 
those  who  are  still  conventionalized." 

"  But  you  don't  believe  in  working  for  Yale,"  persisted 


246  STOVER    AT    YALE 

Stover,  for  he  was  angry  at  what  he  perceived  had  been 
his  discourtesy. 

"Work  for  Yale!  Work  for  Princeton!  Work 
for  Harvard !  Bah !  Sublime  poppycock !  "  exclaimed 
Brockhurst,  in  a  sort  of  fury.  "  Of  all  drivel  preached 
to  young  Americans,  that  is  the  worst.  I  came  to  Yale 
for  an  education.  I  pay  for  it  —  good  pay.  I  ask,  first 
and  last,  what  is  Yale  going  to  do  for  me_?  Work  for 
Yale,  go  out  and  slave,  give  up  my  leisure  and  my  inde 
pendence —  to  do  what  for  Yale?  To  keep  turning  the 
wheels  of  some  purely  inconsequential  machine,  or  strive 
like  a  gladiator.  Is  that  doing  anything  for  Yale,  a  seat 
of  learning?  If  I'm  true  to  myself,  make  the  most  of 
myself,  go  out  and  be  something,  stand  for  something 
after  college,  then  ask  the  question  if  you  want.  Ridic 
ulous  !  Hocus-pocus  and  flap-doodle !  Lord !  I  don't 
know  anything  that  enrages  me  more.  Good  night;  I'm 
going.  Heaven  knows  what  I'll  say  if  I  stay ! " 

He  clapped  his  hat  on  his  head  and  broke  out  of  the 
door.  The  chorus  of  exclamations  in  the  room  died 
down.  Ricketts,  still  shifting  his  victorious  pile,  began 
to  whistle  softly  to  himself.  Regan,  languidly  stretched 
out,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes  kept  watching  Stover, 
staring  red  and  concentrated  into  the  fire. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

Stover  turned. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Regan,  smiling. 

Dink  rapped  the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  scratched  his 
head,  and  said  frankly: 

"  Of  course  I  shouldn't  have  said  what  I  did.  I  got 
well  spanked  for  it,  and  I  deserve  it." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  his  ideas  ?  "  said  Regan,  nod 
ding  appreciatively  at  Stover's  fair  acknowledgment. 

"  I  don't  know/'   said   Stover,  puzzled.     "  I  guess  I 


STOVER    AT    YALE  247 

haven't  used  my  old  thinker  enough  lately  to  be  worth 
anything  in  a  discussion.  Still  — " 

"  Still  what?"  said  Regan,  as  Dink  hesitated. 

"  Still,  he  has  made  me  think,"  he  admitted  grudg 
ingly.  "I  wish  he  didn't  quite  —  quite  get  on  my  nerves 
so." 

"  There's  a  great  deal  in  what  he  said  to-night,"  said 
Pike  meditatively ;  "  a  great  deal.  Of  course,  he  is 
always  looking  at  things  from  the  standpoint  of  the  indi 
vidual  ;  still,  just  the  same  — " 

"  Brocky  always  states  only  one  side  of  the  proposi 
tion,"  said  Brown,  who  rarely  measured  swords  when 
Brockhurst  was  present  in  the  flesh.  "  He  takes  for 
granted  his  premise,  and  argues  for  a  conclusion  that 
must  follow." 

"  Well,  what's  your  premise,  Brown?"  said  Stover 
hopefully,  for  he  wanted  to  be  convinced. 

"  This  is  my  premise,"  said  Brown  fluently.  "  The 
country  has  changed,  the  function  of  a  college  has 
changed.  It  is  now  the  problem  of  educating  masses  and 
not  individuals.  To-day  it  is  a  question  of  perfecting  a 
high  average.  That's  what  happens  everywhere  in  col 
lege:  we  all  tend  toward  the  average;  what  some  lose 
others  gain.  We  go  out,  not  as  individuals,  but  as  a 
type  —  a  Yale  type,  Harvard  type,  Princeton  type,  five 
hundred  strong,  proportionately  more  powerful  in  our 
influence  on  the  country." 

"  Just  what  does  our  type  take  from  here  to  the  na 
tion  ?  "  said  Stover ;  and  then  he  was  surprised  that  he 
had  asked  the  question  that  was  vital. 

"What?  What  does  this  type  stand  for?  I'll  tell 
you,"  said  Brown  readily,  with  the  debater's  trick  of 
repeating  the  question  to  gain  time.  "  First,  a  pretty 
fine  type  of  gentleman,  with  good,  clear,  honest  stand- 


STOVERATYALE 

ards ;  second,  a  spirit  of  ambition  and  a  determination 
not  to  be  beaten ;  third,  the  belief  in  democracy." 

"  All  of  which  means,"  said  Regan,  "  that  we  are  sim 
ply  schools  for  character." 

"Well,  why  not?"  said  Pike.  "Isn't  that  a  pretty 
big  thing?" 

"  You're  wrong  on  the  democracy,  Brown,"  said 
Regan,  with  a  snap  of  his  jaws. 

"  I  mean  the  feeling  of  man  to  man." 

"  Perhaps." 

Stover  at  that  moment  was  not  so  certain  that  he 
would  have  answered  the  same.  The  discussion  had  so 
profoundly  interested  him  that  he  forgot  a  certain 
timidity. 

"  What  would  Brockhurst  answer  to  the  school-for- 
character  idea?  "  he  said. 

"  I  calculate  he'd  have  a  lovely  time  with  it,"  said 
Ricketts,  with  a  laugh,  "  a  regular  dog-and-slipper  time 
of  it." 

"  In  all  which,"  said  Swazey's  quick  voice,  "  there  is 
no  question  about  our  learning  a  little  bit." 

A  laugh  broke  out. 

"Lord,  no!" 

"That  doesn't  count?" 

"  Why  the  curriculum  ?  " 

"  That,"  said  Regan,  rising,  "  brings  up  the  subject  of 
education,  which  is  deferred  until  another  time.  Ladies 
and  gentlemen,  good  night.  Who's  winning?  Ricketts. 
That's  because  he's  said  nothing.  Good  night,  every 
body." 

Stover  went  with  him. 

"  Tom,"  he  said,  when  they  came  toward  the  campus, 
"  do  you  know  what  I've  learned  to-night  ?  I've  learned 
what  a  complete  ignoramus  I  am." 


STOVERATYALE  249 

"  How  did  you  happen  in  ?  "  said  Regan. 

Stover  related  the  incident  without  mincing  words. 

"  You're  a  lucky  boy,"  said  Regan,  at  the  conclusion. 
"  I'm  glad  you're  waking  up."  *. 

"  You  know  I  know  absolutely  nothing.  I  haven't 
thought  on  a  single  subject,  and  as  for  politics,  and  what 
you  men  talk  about,  I  don't  know  the  slightest  thing.  I 
say,  Tom,  I'd  like  to  come  around  and  talk  with  you." 

"  Come,"  said  Regan ;  "  I've  had  the  door  on  the  latch 
for  a  long  while,  old  rooster."  c4£*vtlfvC^  X 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  next  afternoon  Stover  passed  Brockhurst  going 
to  dinner. 

"  Hello,"  he  said,  with  a  cordial  wave  of  the  hand. 

"  Hello,"  said  Brockhurst,  with  a  little  avoidance,  for 
he  had  a  certain  physical  timidity,  which  always  shrank 
at  the  consequences  of  his  mental  insurgency. 

"  I  was  a  chump  and  a  fool  last  night,"  said  Stover 
directly,  "  and  here's  my  apology." 

"  Oh,  all  right." 

"  Drop  in  on  me.  Talk  things  over.  You've  started 
me  thinking.  Drop  in  —  I  mean  it." 

"  Thanks,  awfully." 

Brockhurst,  ill  at  ease,  moved  away,  pursued  always1 
by  a  shackling  self-consciousness  in  the  presence  of 
those  to  whom  he  consciously  felt  he  was  mentally  su 
perior. 

One  direct  result  came  to  Stover  from  the  visit  to 
Swazey's  rooms.  Despite  the  protests  and  arguments, 
he  did  not  report  for  the  competition  for  the  crew. 

"  Stay  in  for  a  couple  of  months,"  said  Le  Baron. 
"  We  want  the  moral  effect  of  every  one's  coming  out." 

"  Sorry ;  I've  made  up  my  mind,"  said  Dink. 

"Why?" 

"  Want  time  to  myself.  I've  never  had  it,  and  now 
I'm  going  to  get  it." 

Le  Baron  of  the  machine  did  not  understand  him,  and 
he  did  not  explain.  Stover  was  essentially  a  man  of 
action  and  not  a  thinker.  He  did  not  reason  things  out 

250 


STOVER    AT    YALE  251 

for  himself,  but  when  he  became  convinced  he  acted. 
So,  when  he  had  thought  over  Brockhurst's  theories  and 
admitted  that  he  was  not  independent,  he  determined  at 
once  to  be  so.  He  began  zealously,  turning  his  back  on 
his  own  society  crowd,  to  seek  out  the  members  of  his 
class  whom  he  did  not  know,  resolved  that  his  horizon 
should  be  of  the  freest.  For  the  first  time  he  began 
to  reason  on  what  others  said  to  him.  He  went  often 
to  Swazey's  rooms,  and  Regan's,  which  were  centers  of 
discussion.  Some  of  the  types  that  drifted  in  were  in 
congruous,  bizarre,  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  the  class;  but 
in  each,  patiently  resolved,  he  found  something  to  stir 
the  imagination ;  and  when,  under  Regan's  quickening  in 
fluence,  he  stopped  to  consider  what  life  in  the  future 
would  mean  to  them,  he  began  to  understand  what  his 
friend,  the  invincible  democrat,  meant  by  the  inspiring 
opportunity  of  college  —  the  vision  of  a  great  country 
that  lay  on  the  lips  of  the  men  he  had  only  to  seek 
out. 

Dink  was  of  too  direct  a  nature  and  also  too  confident 
in  the  strength  of  his  position  to  consider  the  effect  of 
his  sudden  pilgrimage  to  what  was  called  the  "  out 
siders."  Swazey  and  Pike,  at  his  invitation,  took  to 
dropping  into  his  room  and  working  out  their  lessons 
with  him.  Quite  unconsciously,  he  found  himself  con 
stantly  in  public  companionship  with  them  and  other 
newly  discovered  types  who  interested  him. 

About  two  weeks  after  this  new  life  had  begun,  Le 
Baron  stopped  him  one  day,  with  a  little  solicitous  frown, 
saying : 

"  Look  here,  Dink,  aren't  you  cutting  loose  from  your 
own  crowd  a  good  deal  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  I  guess  I  am,"  Dink  announced,  quite  un 
consciously. 


STOVERATYALE 

"  I  wouldn't  get  identified  too  much  with  —  well,  with 
some  of  the  fellows  vou've  taken  up." 

Stover  smiled,  and  went  his  way  undisturbed.  For 
the  first  time  he  felt  his  superiority  over  Le  Baron.  Le 
Baron  could  not  know  what  he  knew  —  that  it  was  just 
these  new  acquaintances  who  had  waked  him  up  out 
of  his  torpor  and  made  a  thinking  being  of  him.  Others 
in  his  class,  mistaking  his  motives,  began  to  twit  him : 

"  I  say,  Dink,  what  are  you  out  for  ?  " 

"  Running  for  something  ?  " 

"  Getting  into  politics  ?  " 

"Junior  Prom,  eh?" 

He  turned  the  jests  aside  with  jests  as  ready,  quite 
unaware  that  in  his  own  crowd  he  was  arousing  a  little 
antagonism;  for  he  was  developing  in  such  deep  lines 
that  he  did  not  perceive  vexing  details. 

All  at  once  he  remembered  that  it  had  been  over  a 
fortnight  since  he  had  called  at  the  Storys'  and  he  ran 
over  one  afternoon  about  four  o'clock,  expecting  to  stay 
for  dinner ;  for  the  Judge  kept  open  house  to  the  friends 
of  his  son,  and  Stover  had  readily  availed  himself  of 
the  privilege  to  become  intimate. 

Although  Bob  Story  was  bound  to  him  by  the  closest 
social  ties,  Dink  felt,  nor  was  he  altogether  at  fault  in 
the  feeling,  that  the  brother  was  still  on  the  defensive 
with  him,  due  to  a  natural  resentment  perhaps  at  Dink's 
too  evident  interest  in  his  sister. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  old  colonial  house  set  back 
among  the  elms,  Eliza,  the  maid,  informed  him  that  no 
one  was  at  home.  Miss  Jean  was  out  riding.  But  im 
mediately  she  corrected  herself,  and,  going  upstairs  to 
make  sure,  returned  with  the  welcome  information  that 
Miss  Story  had  just  returned  and  begged  him  to  wait. 

He  took  the  request  as  a  meager  evidence  of  her  inter- 


STOVERATYALE 

est,  and  entered  the  drawing-room.  Waiting  there  for 
her  to  come  tripping  down  the  stairs,  he  began  to  think 
of  the  new  horizon  that  had  opened  to  him,  and  the  new 
feeling  of  maturity ;  and,  feeling  this  with  an  acute  real 
ization,  he  was  impatient  for  her  to  come,  that  he  might 
tell  her. 

It  was  a  good  ten  minutes  before  he  turned  suddenly 
at  a  rustling  on  the  stairs,  and  saw  her,  fresh  and  flushed 
from  the  ride. 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  you  to  wait,"  she  called  to  him. 
"  I  did  my  best  to  rush." 

Arrived  on  the  landing,  she  gave  him  her  hand,  look 
ing  at  him  a  little  earnestly. 

"  How  are  you  ?     You're  a  terrible  stranger." 

"  Have  I  been  very  bad  ?  "  he  said,  holding  her  hand. 

"  Indeed  you  have.  Even  Bob  said  he  hardly  saw 
you.  What  have  you  been  doing  ?  " 

She  withdrew  her  hand  gently,  but  stood  before  him, 
looking  into  his  face  with  her  frank,  inquiring  eyes. 
Stover  wondered  if  she  thought  he'd  been  a  trifle  wild; 
and,  as  there  was  no  justification,  he  was  immensely 
flattered,  and  a  little  tempted  dramatically  to  assume  an 
attitude  that  would  call  for  reform.  He  smiled  and  said : 

"  I've  been  on  a  voyage  of  discovery,  that's  all.  You'll 
be  interested." 

They  sat  down,  and  he  began  directly  to  talk,  halting 
in  broken  phrases  at  first,  gradually  finding  his  words  as 
he  entered  his  subject. 

"  By  George !  I've  had  a  wonderful  two  weeks  —  a 
revelation  —  just  as  though  —  just  as  though  I'd  begun 
my  colkge^course ;  that's  really  wHat  it  means.  All  I've 
done  before  doesn't  count.  And  to  think,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  an  accident,  I  might  have  gone  on  without  ever 
waking  up." 


254  STOVERATYALE 

He  recounted  his  visit  to  Swazey's  rooms,  drawing  a 
picture  of  his  self-satisfied  self  descending  en  prince  to 
bestow  a  favor;  and,  warming  out  of  his  stiffness,  drew 
a  word  picture  of  Swazey's  telling  his  story  before  the 
fire,  and  the  rough  sentiment  with  which  he  brought 
forth  the  odd,  common  little  tintypes. 

"  By  George !  the  fellow  had  told  a  great  story  and  he 
didn't  know  it;  but  I  knew  it,  and  it  settled  me,"  he 
added  with  earnestness,  always  aware  of  her  heightened 
attention.  "  It  was  a  regular  knockout  blow  to  the  con 
ceited,  top-heavy,  prancing  little  ass  who  had  gone  there. 
By  Jove,  it  gave  me  a  jar.  I  went  out  ashamed." 

"  It  is  a  very  wonderful  life  —  simple,  wonderful,"  she 
said  slowly,  thinking  more  of  the  relator  than  of  the 
story.  "  I  understand  all  you  felt." 

"  You  know  life's  real  to  those  fellows,"  he  continued, 
with  more  animation.  "  They're  after  something  in  this 
world ;  they  believe  in  something ;  they're  fighting  for 
something.  There's  nothing  real  in  me  —  that  is,  there 
wasn't.  By  George,  these  two  weeks  that  I've  gone 
about,  looking  for  the  men  in  the  class,  have  opened  up 
everything  to  me.  I  never  knew  my  own  country  be 
fore.  It's  a  wonderful  country!  It's  the  simple  lives 
that  are  so  wonderful." 

She  had  in  her  hand  a  piece  of  embroidery,  but  she 
did  not  embroider.  Her  eyes  never  left  his  face.  For 
the  first  time,  the  roles  were  reversed:  it  was  he  who 
talked  and  she  who  listened.  From  time  to  time  she 
nodded,  satisfied  at  the  decision  and  direction  in  his 
character,  which  had  answered  the  first  awakening  sug 
gestion. 

"Who  is  Pike?  "she  asked. 

"  Pike  is  a  little  fellow  from  a  little  life  in  some 
country  town  in  Indiana;  the  only  one  in  a  family  of 


'LIFE'S  REAL  TO  THOSE  FELLOWS;  THEY'RE  FIGHTING  FOR 
SOMETHING'  " — Pa>re  254. 


STOVERATYALE  255 

eight  children  that's  amounted  to  anything  —  father's  a 
pretty  even  sort,  I  guess;  so  are  the  rest  of  them.  But 
this  fellow  has  a  dogged  persistence  —  not  so  quick  at 
thinking  things  out,  but,  Lord!  how  he  listens;  nothing 
gets  away  from  him.  I  can  see  him  growing  right  under 
my  eyes.  He's  interested  in  politics,  same  as  Regan; 
wants  to  go  back  and  get  a  newspaper  some  day.  He'll 
do  it,  too.  Why,  that  fellow  has  been  racing  ahead  ever 
since  he  came  here,  and  I've  been  standing  still.  Ricketts 
is  an  odd  character,  a  sort  of  Yankee  genius,  shrewd, 
and  some  of  his  observations  are  as  sharp  as  a  knife. 
Brockhurst  has  the  brains  of  us  all ;  he  can  out-think  us 
every  one.  But  he's  a  spectator ;  he's  outside  looking  on. 
I  can't  quite  get  used  to  him.  Regan's  the  fellow  I  want 
for  a  friend.  He's  like  an  old  Roman.  When  he  makes 
up  his  mind  —  it  takes  him  a  long  while  —  when  he  does, 
he's  right." 

He  recounted  Regan's  ideas  on  politics  —  his  enthu 
siasm,  and  his  ideal  of  a  college  life  that  would  reflect 
the  thought  of  the  nation. 

Then,  talking  to  himself,  he  began  to  walk  up  and 
down,  flinging  out  quick,  stiff  gestures : 

"  Brockhurst  states  a  thing  in  such  a  slap-bang  way  — 
no  compromise — -that  it  hits  you  at  first  like  a  blow. 
But  when  you  think  it  over  he  has  generally  got  to  the 
point.  Where  he's  wrong  is,  he  thinks  the  society  sys 
tem  here  keeps  a  man  wrapped  in  cotton,  smothering 
him  and  separating  him  from  the  class.  Now,  I'm  an 
example  to  the  contrary.  It's  all  a  question  of  the  in 
dividual.  I  thought  it  wasn't  at  one  moment,  but  now 
I  know  that  it  is.  You  can  do  just  what  you  want  — 
find  what  you  want. 

"  But  we  do  get  so  interested  in  outside  things  that 
we  forget  the  real;  that's  true.  Brockhurst  says  we 


256  STOVER    AT    YALE 

ought  to  bring  the  college  back  to  the  campus,  and  the 
more  I  think  of  it  the  more  I  see  what  he  means.  The 
best  weeks,  the  biggest  in  my  life,  are  those  when  I've 
realized  I  had  an  imagination  and  could  use  it."  Sud 
denly  he  halted,  gave  a  quick  glance  at  her,  and  said: 

"  Here  I'm  talking  like  a  runaway  horse.  I  got 
started." 

"  Thank  you  for  talking  to  me  so,"  she  said  eagerly. 

He  had  never  seen  in  her  eyes  so  much  of  genuine 
impulse  toward  him,  and,  suddenly  recalled,  in  this  mo 
ment  of  exhilaration,  to  the  personal  self,  he  was  thrilled 
with  a  strange  thrill  at  what  he  saw. 

"  You^r^member,"  he  said,  with  a  certain  new  bold 
ness,  "  how  imj£U£l£iit~yoTrTr5e4~^ 
furiousJLjKas-j&hen^pj^  not^awake." 

"  I  remember." 

"  Now^X_undej^taH<i:'what  you  meant,"  he  said,  "  but 
then  I  didn't." 

She  rose  to  order  tea,  and  then  turned  impulsively, 
smiling  up  to  him. 

"  I  think  —  I'm  sure  I  felt  it  would  come  to  you ;  only 
I  was  a  little  impatient." 

And  with  a  happy  look  she  offered  him  her  hand. 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  be  your  friend,"  she  said,  to  make 
amends ;  "  and  I  hope  you'll  come  and  talk  over  with 
me  all  that  you  are  thinking.  Will  you?" 

He  did  not  answer.  At  the  touch  of  her  hand,  which 
he  held  in  his,  at  the  new  sound  in  her  voice,  suddenly 
something  surged  up  in  him,  something  blinding,  intox 
icating,  that  left  him  hot  and  cold,  rash  and  silent.  She 
tried  to  release  her  hand,  but  his  grip  was  not  to  be 
denied. 

Then,  seeing  him  standing  head  down  boyishly  unable 
to  speak  or  act,  she  understood. 


STOVERATYALE  257 

"  Oh,  please ! "  she  said,  with  a  sudden  weakness, 
again  trying  to  release  her  fingers. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  he  said,  blurting  out  the  words. 
"  Jean,  you  know  as  well  as  I  what  it  is.  IJove^you." 

The  moment  the  words  were  out,  he  had  a  cold  horror 
of  what  had  been  said.  He  didn't  love  her,  not  as  he 
had  said  it.  Why  had  he  said  it? 

She  remained  motionless  a  moment,  gathering  her 
strength  against  the  shock. 

"  Please  let  go  my  hand,"  she  said  quietly. 

This  time  he  obeyed.  His  mind  was  a  vacuum ;  every 
little  sound  came  to  him  distinctly,  with  the.  terror  of 
the  blunder  he  had  made. 

She  went  to  the  window  and  stood,  her  face  half 
turned  from  him,  trying  to  think;  and,  misreading  her 
thoughts,  a  little  warm  blood  came  back  to  him,  and  he 
tried  to  think  what  he  would  say  if  she  came  back  with 
a  light  in  her  eyes. 

"  Mr.  Stover." 

He  looked  up  abruptly  —  he  had  scarcely  moved. 
She  was  before  him,  her  large  eyes  seeming  larger  than 
ever,  her  face  a  little  frightened,  but  serious  with  the 
seriousness  of  the  woman  looking  out. 

"  You  have  done  a  very  wrong  thing,"  she  said  slowly, 
"  and  you  have  placed  me  in  a  very  difficult  position.  I 
do  not  want  to  lose  you  as  a  friend."  She  made  a  rapid 
movement  of  her  fingers  to  check  his  exclamation.  "If 
what  you  said  were  true,  and  you  are  too  young  to  have 
said  such  solemn  words,  may  I  ask  what  right  you  had 
to  say  them  to  me  ?  " 

"  What  right?  "  he  said  stupidly. 

"  Yes,  what  right,"  she  repeated,  looking  at  him  stead 
ily  with  a  certain  wist-f ulness.  "  Are  you  in  a  position 
to  ask  me  to  be  your  wife  ?  " 


258  STOVERATYALE 

"  Let  me  think  a  moment,"  he  said,  drawing  a  breath. 

He  walked  away  to  the  table,  leaning  his  weight  on 
it,  while,  without  moving,  she  followed  with  a  steady 
gaze,  in  which  was  a  little  pity. 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  she  said  at  last. 

He  turned  and  looked  up  for  the  first  time,  a  look  of 
wretchedness. 

"  It  would  be  too  bad  that  one  moment  should  spoil 
all  our  friendship,"  she  said,  "  and  because  that  would 
hurt  me  I  don't  want  it  so.  You  are  a  boy,  and  I  am  not 
yet  a  woman.  I  have  always  respected  you,  no  more  so 
than  to-day,  before  —  before  you  forgot  your  respect 
toward  me.  I  want  always  to  keep  the  respect  I  had  for 
you." 

"  Don't  say  any  more,"  he  said  suddenly,  with  a  lump 
in  his  throat.  "  I  don't  know  why  —  what  —  why  I  for 
got  myself.  Please  don't  take  away  from  me  your 
friendship.  I  will  keep  it  very  precious." 

"  It  is  very  hard  to  know  what  to  do,"  she  said. 
Then  she  added,  with  a  little  heightening  of  her  color: 
"  My  friendship  means  a  great  deal." 

He  put  out  his  hand  and  gently  took  the  end  of  a  scarf 
which  she  wore  about  her  shoulders,  and  raised  it  to  his 
lips.  It  was  a  boyish,  impulsive  fantasy,  and  he  inclined 
his  head  before  her.  Then  he  went  out  hurriedly,  with 
out  speaking  or  turning,  while  the  girl,  pale  and  with 
out  moving,  continued  to  stare  at  the  curtain  which  still 
moved  with  his  passing. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

STOVER  went  rushing  from  the  Storys'  home,  and 
away  for  a  long  feverish  march  along  dusky  avenues, 
where  unseen  leaves  came  whirling  against  him.  He 
was  humiliated,  mortified  beyond  expression,  in  a  panic 
of  self -accusation  and  remorse. 

"  It's  all  over,"  he  said,  with  a  groan.  "  I've  made  a 
fool  of  myself.  I  can  never  square  myself  after  that. 
What  under  the  shining  stars  made  me  say  that?  What 
happened?  I  hadn't  a  thought,  and  then  all  at  once — - 
Oh,  Lord ! " 

A  couple  of  upper  classmen  returning  nodded  to  him, 
and  he  flung  back  an  abrupt  "  Hello,"  without  distin 
guishing  them. 

"Why  did  I  do  it?  —  why  —  why I" 

He  went  plunging  along,  through  the  dark  regions 
that  lay  between  the  spotted  arc  lights  that  began  to 
sputter  along  the  avenue,  his  ears  deafened  by  the  rush 
and  grind  of  blazing  trolley  cars.  When  he  had  gone 
breathlessly  a  good  two  miles,  he  stopped  and  wearily 
retraced  his  steps.  The  return  no  longer  gave  him  the 
sensation  of  flight.  He  came  back  laggingly,  with  re 
luctance.  Each  time  he  thought  of  the  scene  which  had 
passed  he  had  a  sensation  of  heat  and  cold,  of  anger  and 
of  cowardice.  Never  again  he  said  to  himself,  would 
he  be  able  to  enter  the  Storys'  home,  to  face  her,  Jean 
Story. 

But  after  a  time,  from  sheer  exhaustion,  he  ceased  to 
think  about  his  all-important  self.  He  remembered  the 

259 


260  STOVERATYALE 

dignity  and  gentleness  with  which  the  young  girl  had  met 
the  shock  of  his  blunder,  and  he  was  overwhelmed  with 
wonder.  He  saw  again  her  large  eyes,  filled  with  pain, 
trouble,  and  yet  a  certain  pity.  He  recalled  her  quiet 
voice,  the  direct  meeting  of  the  issue,  and  deep  through 
all  impressions  was  the  memory  of  the  woman,  sweet, 
self-possessed,  and  gentle,  that  had  been  evoked  from  her 
eyes. 

He  forgot  himself.  He  forgot  all  the  wretchedness 
and  hot  misery.  He  remembered  only  this  Jean  Story, 
and  the  Jean  Story  that  would  be.  And  feeling  the  re 
vealing  acuteness  of  love  for  the  first  time,  he  said  im 
pulsively  : 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  love  her.  I  have  always  loved  her !  " 
And  silently,  deep  in  his  heart,  a  little  frightened  almost 
to  set  the  thought  to  words,  he  made  a  vow  that  his  life 
from  now  on  should  be  earnest  and  inspired  with  but 
one  purpose,  to  win  her  respect  and  to  win  the  right  to 
ask  her  for  his  wife. 

With  the  resolve,  all  the  fret  and  fever  went  from 
him.  He  felt  a  new  confidence  and  a  new  maturity. 

"  When  I  speak  again,  I  shall  have  the  right,"  he  said 
solemnly.  "  And  she  shall  see  that  I  am  not  a  mere  boy. 
That  I  will  show  her  soon ! " 

When  he  came  again  into  the  domain  of  the  college, 
he  suddenly  felt  all  the  littleness  of  the  ambitions  that 
raged  inside  those  self-sufficient  walls. 

"  Lord,  what  have  I  been  doing  all  this  time  —  what 
does  it  count  for  ?  Brocky  is  right ;  it  isn't  what  you  do 
here,  it's  what  you  are  ready  to  do  when  you  go  out. 
Thank  Heaven,  I  can  see  it  now."  And  secure  in  the 
knowledge  that  the  honors  he  rated  so  lightly  were  his, 
he  added :  "  There's  only  one  thing  that  counts  —  that's 
your  own  self." 


STOVERATYALE  261 

It  was  after  the  dinner  hour,  and  he  hesitated ;  a  little 
tired  of  his  own  company,  longing  for  the  diversion  an 
other  personality  would  bring,  and  seeking  some  one  as 
far  removed  from  his  own  point  of  view  as  possible,  he 
halted  before  Durf ee,  and  sent  his  call  to  the  top  stories : 

"  Oh,  Ricky  Ricketts,  stick  out  your  head." 

Above  a  window  went  up,  and  a  fuzzy  head  came  curi 
ously  forth. 

"Wot'ell,  Bill?" 

"  It's  Stover,  Dink  Stover.     Come  down." 

"Somethin'  doin'?" 

"  You  bet." 

Presently,  Ricketts 's  bean-stalk  figure  came  flopping 
out  of  the  entry. 

"What's  up,  Dink?" 

"I'm  back  too  late  for  supper.  Come  on  down  with 
me  to  Mory's  and  keep  me  company,  and  I'll  buy  you  a 
drink." 

"Did  I  hear  the  word  "buy'?"  said  Ricketts,  in  the 
manner  then  made  popular  by  the  lamented  Pete  Dailey. 

"  You  did." 

"  Lead  me  to  it." 

At  Mory's,  two  or  three  men  whom  he  didn't  know 
were  at  the  senior  table.  Le  Baron  and  Reynolds,  pros 
pective  captain  of  the  crew  and  chairman  of  the  News, 
respectively,  men  of  his  own  society,  gave  him  a  hearty, 
"  Hello,  Dink,"  and  then  stared  curiously  at  Ricketts, 
whose  general  appearance  neither  conformed  to  any  one 
fashion  nor  to  any  two.  Gimbel,  the  politician,  was  in 
the  off  room  with  three  of  the  more  militant  anti-soph 
omore  society  leaders.  The  two  parties  saluted  in  regu 
lation  style. 

"  Hello,  you  fellows." 

"  Howdy,  there." 


STOVERATYALE 

Stover,  sitting  down,  saw  GimbeFs  perplexed  glance 
at  his  companion,  and  thought  to  himself : 

"  I've  got  Gimbel  way  up  a  tree.  I'll  bet  he  thinks 
I'm  trying  to  work  out  some  society  combine  against 
him." 

The  thought  recalled  to  him  all  the  increasing  bitter 
ness  of  the  anti-sophomore  society  fight  which  had  swept 
the  college.  There  was  talk  even  of  an  open  mass  meet 
ing.  He  remembered  that  Hunter  had  mentioned  it,  and 
for  a  moment  he  was  inclined  to  put  the  question  direct 
to  Gimbel.  But  his  mood  was  alien  to  controversy,  and 
Louis,  with  sidelong,  beady  eyes,  and  a  fragrant  aroma, 
was  waiting  the  order. 

Ricketts  had,  among  twenty  Yankee  devices  for  greas 
ing  his  journey  through  college,  a  specialty  of  breaking 
in  new  pipes,  one  of  which  he  now  produced,  with  an 
apologetic : 

"  You  don't  mind,  do  you,  if  I  crack  my  lungs  on  this 
appetizing  little  trifle  ?  " 

"  I  say,  Ricketts,"  said  Stover,  trying  to  keep  off  his 
mind  the  one  subject,  "  is  that  all  a  joke  about  your 
breaking  in  pipes  ?  " 

"  Straightest  thing  in  the  world." 

"What  do  you  charge?" 

"  Thirty-five  cents  and  the  tobacco." 

"  You  ought  to  charge  fifty." 

"  I'm  going  to  next  year.  You  think  I'm  loony  ?  "  said 
Ricketts. 

"  I'm  not  sure." 

"  Dink,  my  boy,  I'll  be  a  millionaire  in  ten  years.  You 
know  what  I'm  figuring  out  all  this  time?  I'm  going  at 
this  scientifically.  I'm  figuring  out  the  number  of  fools 
there  are  on  the  top  of  this  globe,  classifying  'em,  looking 


STOVERATYALE  263 

out  what  they  want  to  be  fooled  on.  I'm  making  an 
exact  science  of  it." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Dink,  amused  and  perplexed,  for  he 
was  trying  to  distinguish  the  serious  and  the  humorous. 

"  What's  the  principle  of  a  patent  medicine  ?  —  adver 
tise  first,  then  concoct  your  medicine.  All  the  science 
of  Foolology  is:  first,  find  something  all  the  fools  love 
and  enjoy,  tell  them  it's  wrong,  hammer  it  into  them, 
give  them  a  substitute  and  sit  back,  chuckle,  and  shovel 
away  the  ducats.  Bread's  wrong,  coffee's  wrong,  beer's 
wrong.  Why,  Dink,  in  the  next  twenty  years  all  the 
fools  will  be  feeding  on  substitutes  for  everything  they 
want;  no  salt  —  denatured  sugar  —  anti-tea  —  oiloline 
—  peanut  butter  —  whale's  milk  —  et  cetera,  et  ceteray, 
and  blessing  the  name  of  the  fool-master  who  fooled 
them." 

"  By  Jingo,"  said  Stover,  listening  to  this  jumble  of 
words,  entranced,  "  I  believe  you're  right.  And  so 
you've  reduced  it  to  a  science,  eh  —  Foolology  ?  " 

Ricketts,  half  in  earnest,  never  entirely  in  jest,  abetted 
by  newly  arriving  tobies,  was  off  again  on  his  pet  theories 
of  business  imagination,  disdaining  the  occasional  gibes 
that  were  flung  at  him  from  Gimbel's  table. 

When  Le  Baron  and  Reynolds  passed  out,  with  curi 
ous  glances,  Stover  was  weak  with  laughter.  Later 
arrivals  dropping  in  joined  them,  egging  on  the  inventor. 

Stover,  who  had  been  busily  consulting  his  watch, 
left  at  half -past  eight  on  a  sudden  resolve.  The  farcical 
interruption  that  had  temporarily  drawn  him  out  of  him 
self,  had  cleared  his  head,  and  brought  him  a  sudden 
authoritative  decision. 

He  went  directly  to  the  Storys',  and,  entering  the 
parlor,  found  a  group  of  his  crowd  there,  dinner  finished, 
trying  out  the  latest  comic  opera  chorus. 


264  STOVER    AT    YALE 

He  came  in  quite  coldly  self-possessed,  shook  hands, 
and  immediately  jumped  into  the  conversation,  which 
was  all  on  the  crisis  in  the  sophomore  societies.  Jean 
Story  was  at  the  piano,  a  little  more  serious  than  usual. 
At  his  entrance,  she  looked  up  with  sudden  wonder  and 
confusion.  He  came  to  her,  and  in  taking  her  hand 
inclined  his  head  in  great  respect,  but  did  not  speak  to 
her.  He  had  but  one  desire,  to  show  her  that  he  was  not 
a  boy  but  a  man,  and  that  he  could  rise  to  the  crisis 
which  he  had  brought  on  himself. 

Hunter  and  Tommy  Bain  had  been  arguing  for  no 
compromise,  Bob  Story  and  Hungerford  were  of  the 
opinion  that  the  time  had  come  to  enlarge  the  member 
ship  of  the  societies,  and  to  destroy  their  exclusiveness. 

On  the  sofa,  the  little  Judge,  a  spectator,  never  in 
timating  his  opinion,  studying  each  man  as  he  spoke, 
appealed  to  Stover : 

"  Well,  now,  Judge  Dink,  what  is  your  learned  opinion 
on  this  situation?  Here  is  the  dickens  to  pay;  three- 
fourths  the  college  lined  up  against  you  fellows,  and  a 
public  mass  meeting  coming.  Jim  Hunter  here  believes 
in  sitting  back  and  letting  the  storm  blow  over;  Bob, 
who  of  course  can  regulate  it  all,  wants  to  double  the 
membership  and  meet  some  objections.  Now  what  do 
you  say?  Mr.  Stover  has  the  floor.  My  daughter  will 
please  come  to  order." 

Jean  Story  abruptly  turned  from  the  piano,  where 
her  fingers  had  been  absent-mindedly  running  over  the 
keys. 

"  Frankly,  I  haven't  made  up  my  mind  just  yet,"  said 
Stover.  "  There  are  a  great  many  sides  to  it.  I've 
listened  to  a  good  many  opinions,  but  haven't  yet  chosen 
mine.  Every  one  is  talking  about  the  effect  on  the  col 
lege,  but  what  has  impressed  me  most  is  the  effect  on  the 


STOVER    AT    YALE  265 

sophomore  society  men  themselves.  If  the  outsiders  only 
knew  the  danger  and  handicap  they  are  to  us ! " 

"  Hello,"  said  the  Judge,  shifting  with  a  little  interest. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Hunter  aggressively. 

"  I  mean  we  are  the  ones  who  are  limited,  who  are 
liable  to  miss  the  big  opportunities  of  college  life.  We 
have  got  into  the  habit,  under  the  pretense  of  good 
fellowship,  of  herding  together." 

"Why  shouldn't  we?"  persisted  Hunter. 

"  Because  we  shut  ourselves  up,  withdraw  from  the 
big  life  of  the  college,  know  only  our  own  kind,  the  kind 
we'll  know  all  our  life ;  surrender  our  imagination.  We 
represent  only  a  social  idea,  a  good  time,  good  friends, 
good  figure-heads  on  the  different  machines  of  the  col 
lege.  But  we  miss  the  big  chance  —  to  go  out,  to  mingle 
with  every  one,  to  educate  ourselves  by  knowing  opposite 
lives,  fellows  who  see  things  as  we  never  have  seen  them, 
who  are  going  back  to  a  life  a  thousand  miles  away  from 
what  we  will  lead."  He  expressed  himself  badly,  and, 
realizing  it,  said  impatiently :  "  Here,  what  I  mean  is 
this.  It's  not  my  idea,  it's  Brockhurst's,  it's  Tom 
Regan's.  The  biggest  thing  we  can  do  is  to  reflect  the 
nation,  to  be  the  inspiration  of  the  democracy  of  the 
country,  to  be  alive  to  the  fight  among  the,  people.. Jor 
real  political  independence.  We  ought  to  get  a  great 
vision  when  we  come  up  here,  as  young  men,  of  the  big 
ness  of  our  country,  of  the  privilege  of  fighting  out  its 
political  freedom,  of  what  American  manhood  means  in 
the  towns  of  Georgia  and  Texas,  in  the  little  manu 
facturing  cities  of  New  England,  in  the  great  West,  and 
in  the  small  homes  of  the  big  cities.  We  ought  to  really 
know  one  another,  meet,  discuss,  respect  each  other's 
point  of  view,  independence  —  odd  ways  if  you  wish. 
We  don't  do  it.  We  did  once  —  we  don't  now.  Prince- 


266  STOVER   AT    YALE 

ton  doesn't  do  it,  Harvard  doesn't  do  it.  We're  over- 
organized  away  from  the  vital  thing  —  the  knowledge  of 
ourselves." 

"  Then  you'd  abolish  the  sophomore  societies  ?  "  said 
Hunter,  crowding  him  to  the  wall. 

"  I  don't  know.  Sometimes  I've  felt  it's  the  system 
that  is  wrong,"  said  Stover  frankly.  "  Lately,  I've 
changed  my  mind.  I  think  we  can  do  what  we  want  — 
at  least  I  know  I've  gone  out  and  met  whom  I  wanted 
to  without  my  being  in  a  sophomore  society  making  the 
slightest  difference.  I  say  I  don't  know  where  the  trou 
ble  is ;  whether  the  whole  social  system  here  and  else 
where  is  the  cause  or  the  effect.  It  may  be  that  it  is  the 
whole  development  of  America  that  has  changed  our 
college  life.  I  don't  know;  those  questions  are  too  big 
for  me  to  work  out.  But  I  know  one  thing,  that  my  own 
ideas  of  what  I  want  here  have  taken  a  back  somersault, 
and  that  I'm  going  out  of  here  knowing  everything  I 
can  of  every  man  in  the  class."  Suddenly  he  remem 
bered  Hunter's  opposition,  and  turning,  concluded: 
"  One  thing  more ;  if  ever  I  make  up  my  mind  that  the 
sophomore  society  system  or  any  other  system  ought  to 
be  abolished,  I'll  stand  out  and  say  so." 

When  he  had  finished,  his  classmates  began  talking  all 
at  once,  Hunter  and  Bain  in  bitter  opposition,  Bob  Story 
in  warm  defense,  Hungerford,  in  his  big-souled  way, 
coming  ponderously  to  his  assistance. 

Stover  withdrew  from  the  conversation.  He  glanced 
at  Jean  Story,  wondering  if  she  had  understood  the  rea 
son  of  his  return,  and  that  he  had  spoken  for  her  ears 
alone.  She  was  still  at  the  piano,  one  hand  resting  on 
the  keyboard,  looking  at  him  with  the  same  serious,  half- 
troubled  expression  in  her  large  eyes.  He  made  an  ex 
cuse  to  leave,  and  for  the  second  that  he  stood  by  her, 


STOVER   AT    YALE  267 

he  looked  into  her  eyes  boldly,  with  even  a  little  bravado, 
as  though  to  ask: 

"  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

But  the  young  girl,  without  speaking,  nodded  her  head 
slightly,  continuing  to  look  at  him  with  her  wistful,  a 
little  wounded  glance. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IT  was  only  a  little  after  nine.     He  had  left  in  the 
company   of   Joe   Hungerford,   who    had   ostensibly 
taken  the  opportunity  of  going  with  him. 

"  I  say,  Dink,"  he  began  directly,  in  the  blustering, 
full-mouthed  way  he  had  when  excited,  "  I  say  bully  for 
you.  Lord,  I  liked  to  hear  you  talk  out." 

"  It's  all  simple  enough,"  said  Stover,  surprised  at  the 
other's  enthusiasm.  "  I  suppose  I  wouldn't  have  said  all 
I  did  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Hunter." 

"  Oh,  Jim's  a  damned  hard-shell  from  way  back," 
said  Hungerford  good-humoredly,  "  never  mind  him. 
I  say  though,  Dink,  you  really  have  been  going  round, 
haven't  you,  breaking  through  the  lines  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have." 

"  I  wish  you'd  take  me  around  with  you  some  time," 
said  Hungerford  enviously. 

"  Why  the  deuce  don't  you  break  in  yourself  ?  " 

"  It  doesn't  come  natural,  Dink,"  said  the  inheritor  of 
millions  regretfully.  "  I  never  went  through  boarding- 
school  like  you  fellows.  By  George,  it's  just  what  I 
want,  what  I  hoped  for  here !  and,  damn  it,  what  I'm  not 
getting!" 

"  You  know,  Joe,"  said  Dink  suddenly,  "  there 
wouldn't  be  any  society  problem  if  fellows  that  felt  the 
way  you  and  I  do  would  assert  themselves.  By  George, 
there's  nothing  wrong  with  the  soph  societies,  the  trouble 
is  with  us." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure,"  said  Hungerford  seriously. 
268 


STOVER   AT   YALE  269 

"Rats!" 

"  You  know,  Dink,"  said  Joe  with  a  little  hesitation, 
"  it  is  not  every  one  who  understands  you  or  what  you're 
doing." 

"  I  know,"  said  Stover,  laughing  confidently.  "  Some 
have  got  an  idea  I've  got  some  great  political  scheme, 
working  in  with  the  outsiders  to  run  for  the  Junior  Prom, 
or  something  like  that." 

"  No,  it's  not  all  that.  I  don't  think  some  of  our 
crowd  realize  what  you're  doing  —  rather  fancy  you're 
cutting  loose  from  them." 

"  Let  them  think,"  said  Stover  carelessly.  Then  he 
added  with  some  curiosity:  "Has  there  been  much 
talk?" 

"  Yes,  there  has." 

"  Any  one  spoken  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  know  —  I  know  they've  got  an  idea  I'm  queering 
myself  —  oh,  that  word  '  queer ' ;  it's  the  bogey  of  the 
whole  place." 

"  You're  right  there !  But,  Dink,  I  might  as  well  let 
you  know  the  feeling ;  it  isn't  simply  in  our  set,  but  some 
of  the  crowd  ahead." 

"Le  Baron,  Reynolds?" 

"  Yes.  Haven't  they  ever  —  ever  said  anything  to 
you?" 

"  Bless  their  simple  hearts,"  said  Stover,  untroubled. 
"  So  they're  worrying  about  me.  It's  rather  humorous. 
It's  their  inherited  point  of  view.  Le  Baron,  Joe,  could 
no  more  understand  what  we  are  thinking  about  —  and 
yet  he's  a  fine  type.  Sure,  he's  stopped  me  a  couple  of 
times  and  shaken  his  head  in  a  worried,  fatherly  way. 
To  him,  you  see,  everything  is  selective;  what  he  calls 
the  fellow  who  doesn't  count,  the  '  fruit/  is  really  out- 


270  STOVERATYALE 

side  what  he  understands,  the  fellows  who  are  in  the 
current  of  what's  being  done  here.  I  must  talk  it  out 
with  him  sometime.  We've  come  to  absolutely  opposite 
points  of  view.  And  yet  the  curious  thing  is,  he's  fond 
as  the  deuce  of  me." 

"  Yes,  that's  so,"  said  Hungerford.  He  did  not  in 
sist,  seeing  that  Stover  was  insensible  to  the  hints  he 
had  tried  to  convey.  Not  wishing  to  express  openly  a 
point  of  view  which  was  personally  unsympathetic,  he 
hesitated  and  remained  silent. 

"  Coming  up  for  a  chin  ?  "  said  Dink,  as  they  neared 
the  campus. 

"No,  I've  got  a  date  at  Heub's.  I  say,  Dink,  I'm 
serious  in  what  I  said.  I  want  to  wake  up  and  get 
around.  Work  me  in." 

"  You  bet  I  will,  and  you'll  meet  a  gang  that  really 
have  some  ideas." 

"  That's  what  I  want.     Well,  so  long." 

"  So  long,  Joe." 

Dink,  turning  to  the  right,  entered  the  campus  past 
Battell.  He  had  never  before  felt  so  master  of  himself, 
or  surer  of  a  clear  vision.  The  thought  of  his  instinct 
ive  return  to  the  Storys',  and  the  knowledge  that  he  had 
distinguished  himself  before  Jean  Story,  gave  him  a  cer 
tain  exhilaration.  He  began  to  feel  the  opportunity  that 
was  in  his  hands.  He  remembered  with  pleasure  Hun- 
gerford's  demand  to  follow  where  he  had  gone,  and  he 
said  to  himself : 

"  I  can  make  this  crowd  of  mine  see  what  the  real 
thing  is  —  and,  by  George,  I'm  going  to  do  it." 

As  he  delayed  in  the  campus,  Le  Baron  and  Reynolds 
passed  him,  going  toward  Durfee. 

"  Hello,  Dink." 

"  Hello  there." 


STOVER    AT    YALE  271 

He  continued  on  to  his  entry,  and,  turning,  saw  the  two 
juniors  stop  and  watch  him.  Without  heed  he  went  up 
to  his  room,  lit  the  dusty  gas-jet,  and  went  reverently 
to  his  bureau.  He  was  in  his  bedroom,  standing  there 
in  a  sentimental  mood,  gazing  at  the  one  or  two  little 
kodaks  he  had  displayed  of  Jean  Story,  when  a  knock 
sounded.  He  turned  away  abruptly,  singing  out: 

"  Let  her  come." 

The  door  opened  and  some  one  entered,  and,  emerging 
from  his  bedroom,  he  beheld  to  his  surprise  Le  Baron 
and  Reynolds. 

"  Hello,"  he  said,  puzzled. 

"  Anything  doing,  Dink  ?  "  said  Le  Baron  pleasantly. 

"  Not  a  thing.  Make  yourself  at  home,"  he  said 
hastily.  "Take  a  seat.  Pipe  tobacco  in  the  jar  — 
cigarettes  on  the  table." 

Each  waved  his  hand  in  dissent.  Reynolds  seated 
himself  in  a  quick,  business-like  way  on  the  edge  of  his 
chair;  Le  Baron,  more  sociable,  passed  curiously  about 
the  room,  examining  the  trophies  with  interest. 

"  I  wonder  what's  up  now,"  thought  Dink,  without 
uneasiness.  He  knew  that  it  was  the  custom  of  men  in 
the  class  above  about  to  go  into  the  senior  societies  to 
acquaint  themselves  with  the  tendencies  of  the  next  class. 
"  That's  it,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "  they  want  to  know  if 
I'm  heeling  Bones  or  Keys." 

"  You've  got  a  great  bunch  of  junk,"  said  Le  Baron, 
finishing  his  inspection. 

"  Yes,  it's  quite  a  mixture." 

Le  Baron,  refusing  a  seat,  stood  before  the  fireplace, 
a  pocket  knife  juggling  in  his  hands,  seeking  an  opening. 

"  Here,  I'll  have  a  cigarette,"  he  said  finally,  with  a 
frown. 

Reynolds,  more  business-like,  broke  out: 


272  STOVER   AT   ,YALE 

"  Dink,  AveVe  dropped  in  to  have  a  little  straight  talk 
with  you." 

"  All  right." 

He  felt  a  premonition  of  what  was  coming,  and  the 
short  note  of  authority  in  Reynolds's  voice  seemed  to 
stiffen  everything  inside  of  him. 

"  We've  dropped  a  few  hints  to  you,"  continued  Rey 
nolds,  in  his  staccato  manner,  "  and  you  haven't  chosen 
to  understand  them.  Now  we're  going  to  put  it  right 
to  you." 

"  Hold  up,  Benny,"  said  Le  Baron,  who  had  lit  his 
cigarette,  "  it's  not  necessary  to  talk  that  way.  Let  me 
explain." 

"  No,  put  it  to  me  straight,"  said  Stover,  looking  past 
Le  Baron  straight  into  Reynolds's  eyes.  An  instinctive 
antagonism  was  in  him,  the  revolt  of  the  man  of  action, 
the  leader  in  athletics,  at  being  criticized  by  the  man  of 
the  pen. 

"  Stover,  we  don't  like  what  you've  been  doing 
lately." 

"Why  not?" 

"  You're  shaking  your  own  crowd,  and  you're  identi 
fying  yourself  with  a  crowd  that  doesn't  count.  What 
the  deuce  has  got  into  you  ?  " 

"  Just  shut  up  for  a  moment,  Benny,"  said  Le  Baron, 
giving  him  a  look,  "  you're  not  putting  the  thing  in  the 
right  way." 

"  I'm  not  jumping  on  any  one,"  said  Reynolds.  "  I'm 
giving  him  good  advice." 

Stover  looked  at  him  without  speaking,  then  he  turned 
to  Le  Baron. 

"Well?" 

"  Look  here,  Dink,"  said  Le  Baron  conciliatingly.  "  A 
lot  of  us  fellows  have  spoken  to  you,  but  you  didn't  seem 


STOVER    AT    YALE  273 

to  understand.  Now,  what  Pm  saying  is  because  I  like 
you,  and  because  you  are  making  a  mistake.  We're 
interested  personally,  and  for  the  society's  sake,  in  see 
ing  you  make  out  of  yourself  what  you  ought  to  be,  one 
of  the  big  men  of  the  class.  Dink,  what's  happened? 
Have  you  lost  your  nerve  about  anything  —  anything 
wrong  ?  " 

"  Wait  a  moment  —  let  me  understand  the  thing,"  said 
Stover,  absolutely  dumbfounded.  Reynolds's  purely  un 
intentional  false  start  had  left  him  cold  with  anger. 
"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  have  come  here  to  inform 
me  that  you  do  not  approve  of  the  friends  I've  been  mak 
ing?" 

"  Hold  up,"  said  Le  Baron. 

"  No,  let's  have  it  straight.  That's  what  I  want,  too," 
he  said  quickly,  facing  Reynolds.  "  You  criticize  the 
crowd  I'm  going  with,  and  you  want  me  to  chuck  them. 
That's  it  in  plain  English,  isn't  it?" 

A  little  flush  showed  on  Reynolds's  face.  He,  too, 
felt  the  physical  superiority  in  Stover,  and  the  antago 
nism  thereof,  and,  being  provoked,  he  answered  more 
shortly  than  he  meant  to: 

"  Let  it  go  at  that." 

"  Is  that  right  ?  "  said  Stover,  turning  to  Le  Baron. 

"  Now,  look  here,  Dink,  there's  no  use  in  getting  hot 
about  this,"  said  Le  Baron  uneasily.  "  No  one's  forcing 
anything  on  you.  We  are  here  as  your  friends,  telling 
you  what  we  believe  is  for  your  own  good." 

"  So  you  think  if  I  go  on  identifying  myself  with 
the  crowd  I'm  with  that  I  may  '  queer  '  myself  ?  " 

"  That's  rather  strong." 

"  Wliy  not  have  it  out?  " 

"  This  is  true,"  said  Le  Baron,  "  that  the  men  in  your 
own  crowd  don't  understand  your  cutting  loose  from 


STOVER   AT    YALE 

them,  and  that  no  one  can  make  out  why  you've  taken  up 
with  the  crowd  you  have." 

The  explanation  which  might  have  cleared  matters 
was  forgotten  by  Stover  in  the  wound  to  his  vanity. 

"  You  haven't  answered  my  question." 

"  Well,  Dink,  to  be  honest,"  said  Le  Baron,  "  if  you 
keep  on  deliberately,  there  is  more  than  a  chance  of  — " 

"  Of  queering  myself  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Being  regarded  as  a  sort  of  wild  man,  and  missing 
out  on  a  senior  election." 

"  That's  what  we  want  to  prevent,"  said  Le  Baron,  be 
lieving  he  saw  a  reasonable  excuse.  "  You've  got  every 
thing  in  your  hands,  Stover,  don't  waste  your  time — " 

"  One  moment." 

Stover,  putting  out  his  hand,  interrupted  him.  He 
locked  his  hands  behind  his  back,  twisting  them  in 
physical  pain,  staring  out  the  window,  unable  to  meet 
the  suddenness  of  the  situation. 

"  You've  been  quite  frank,"  he  said,  when  he  was  able 
to  speak.  "  You  have  not  come  to  me  to  dictate  who 
should  be  my  friends  here,  though  that's  perhaps  a 
quibble,  but  as  members  of  my  sophomore  society  you 
have  come  to  advise  me  against  what  might  queer  me. 
I  understand.  Well,  gentlemen,  you  absolutely  amaze 
me.  I  didn't  believe  it  possible.  I'll  think  it  over." 

He  looked  at  them  with  a  quick  nod,  intimating  that 
there  was  nothing  more  to  be  discussed.  Reynolds,  say 
ing  something  under  his  breath,  sprang  up.  Le  Baron, 
feeling  that  the  interview  had  been  a  blunder  from  the 
first,  said  suddenly: 

"  Benny,  see  here ;  let  me  have  a  moment's  talk  with 
Dink." 


STOVER    AT    YALE  275 

"  Quite  useless,  Hugh,"  said  Stover,  in  the  same  con 
trolled  voice.  "  There's  nothing  more  to  be  said.  You 
have  your  point  of  view,  I  have  mine.  I  understand. 
There's  no  pressure  being  put  on  me,  only,  if  I  am  to  go 
on  choosing  my  friends  as  I  have  —  I  do  it  at  my  own 
risk.  I've  listened  to  you.  I  don't  know  what  I  shall 
answer.  That's  all.  Good  night." 

Reynolds  went  out  directly,  Le  Baron  slowly,  with 
much  hesitation,  seeking  some  opportunity  to  remain, 
with  a  last  uneasy  glance. 

When  Stover  was  left  to  himself,  his  first  sensation 
was  of  absolute  amazement.  He,  the  big  man  of  the 
class,  confident  in  the  security  of  his  position,  had  sud 
denly  tripped  against  an  obstruction,  and  been  made  to 
feel  his  limitations. 

"  By  Heavens !  If  any  one  would  have  told  me, 
I  wouldn't  have  believed  it  —  the  fools !  " 

The  full  realization  of  the  pressure  that  had  been 
exerted  on  him  did  not  yet  come  to  him.  He  was  an 
noyed,  as  some  wild  animal  at  the  first  touch  of  a  rope 
that  seems  only  to  check  him. 

He  moved  about  the  room,  tossing  back  his  hair  impa 
tiently. 

"  That's  what  Hungerford  was  trying  to  hint  to  me," 
he  said.  "  So  my  conduct  has  been  under  fire.  What 
I  do  is  a  subject  of  criticism  because  I've  gone  out  of  the 
beaten  way,  done  something  they  don't  understand  —  the 
precious  idiots ! "  Then  he  remembered  Reynolds,  and 
his  anger  began  to  rise.  "  The  little  squirt,  the  impu 
dent  little  scribbler,  to  come  and  tell  me  what  I  should 
or  shouldn't  do!  How  the  devil  did  I  ever  keep  my 
temper  ?  Who  is  he  anyhow  ?  I'll  give  him  an  answer !  " 

All  at  once  he  perceived  the  full  extent  of  the  situation, 


276  STOVER    AZT    YALE 

and  what  a  defiance  would  mean  to  those  leaders  in  the 
class  above,  men  marked  for  Skull  and  Bones,  the  soci 
ety  to  which  he  aspired. 

"  No  pressure ! "  he  said  aloud,  with  a  grim  laugh, 
"  Oh,  no !  no  pressure  at  all !  Advice  only  —  take  it  or 
leave  it,  but  the  consequences  are  on  your  head.  By 
Heavens,  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it."  It  hurt  him,  it 
hurt  him  acutely,  that  he,  who  had  won  his  way  to  lead 
ership,  should  have  sat  and  listened  to  those  who  were 
the  masters  of  his  success. 

"  Hold  up,  hold  up,  Dink  Stover,"  he  said,  all  at  once. 
"  This  is  serious  —  a  damn  sight  more  serious  than  you 
thought.  It's  up  to  you.  What  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it?" 

All  at  once  the  temper  that  always  lay  close  to  his 
skin,  uncontrollable  and  violent,  broke  out. 

"  By  Heavens  —  and  I  stood  for  it  —  I  stood  there 
quietly  and  listened,  and  never  said  a  word!  But  I 
didn't  realize  it  —  no,  I  didn't  realize  it.  Yes,  but  he 
won't  understand  it,  that  damned  little  whipper-snapper 
of  a  Reynolds;  he'll  think  I've  kow-towed.  He  will, 
will  he?  We'll  see!  By  Heavens,  that's  what  their 
society  game  means,  does  it!  Thank  Heaven,  I  didn't 
argue  with  them.  At  least  I  didn't  do  that." 

He  strode  over  quickly,  and  seizing  his  cap  clapped  it 
on  his  head,  and  stopped. 

"  Now  or  never,"  he  said,  between  his  teeth. 

He  went  out  slamming  the  door;  and  as  he  went, 
furiously,  all  the  anger  and  humiliation  blazed  up  in  a 
fierce  revolt  —  he,  Dink,  Dink  Stover,  had  stood  tamely 
and  listened  while  others  had  come  and  told  him  what 
to  do,  told  him  in  so  many  words  that  he  was  "  queering  " 
himself.  He  went  out  of  the  entry  almost  at  a  run,  with 
a  sort  of  blind,  unreasoning  idea  that  he  could  overtake 


STOVERATYALE  277 

them.  By  the  fence  he  almost  upset  Dopey  McNab,  who 
called  to  him  fruitlessly: 

"  Here  —  I  say,  Dink !     What  the  devil !  " 

He  reached  the  center  of  the  campus  before  he 
stopped.  He  had  quite  lost  control  of  himself ;  he  knew 
what  he  would  say,  and  he  didn't  care.  Suddenly  he 
recalled  where  Reynolds  roomed,  and  went  hot-foot  for 
Vanderbilt,  with  a  fierce  physical  longing  to  be  provoked 
into  a  fight. 

He  arrived  at  the  door  breathlessly,  a  lump  in  his 
throat,  never  considering  the  chances  of  finding  them  out. 

Le  Baron  and  Reynolds  were  before  the  fireplace  in  a 
determined  argument.  He  shut  the  door  behind  him, 
and  leaned  against  it,  digging  his  nails  into  his  hands 
with  the  effort  to  master  his  voice. 

The  two  juniors,  struck  by  the  violence  of  his  en 
trance,  turned  abruptly,  and  Le  Baron,  a  little  pale, 
started  forward,  saying: 

"I  say,  Dink—" 

"  Look  here,"  he  cried,  flinging  out  a  hand  for  silence, 
"  I  don't  know  why  I  didn't  say  it  to  you  there  —  when 
you  spoke  to  me.  I  don't  know.  I'm  a  low-livered  cow 
ard  and  a  skunk  because  I  didn't !  But  I  know  now  what 
I'm  going  to  say,  and  I'll  say  it.  You  came  to  me,  you 
dared  to  come  to  me  and  tell  me  what  I  was  to  do  — 
to  heel  —  that's  what  you  meant;  to  cut  out  fellows  I 
know  and  respect  —  oh,  you  didn't  have  the  courage  to 
say  it  out,  but  that's  it.  Well,  now,  I've  just  got  one 
thing  to  say  to  you  both.  If  this  is  what  your  society 
business  means,  if  this  is  your  idea  of  democracy  —  I'm 
through  with  you — " 

"  Hold  up,"  said  Le  Baron,  springing  forward. 

"  I  won't  hold  up,"  said  Stover,  beside  himself,  "  for 
you  or  for  any  one  else,  or  whatever  you  can  do  against 


278  STOVERATYALE 

me!     Here's  my  answer  —  I'm  through!    You  and  the 
whole  society  can  go  plumb  to  Hell ! " 

And  suffocating,  choking,  blinded  with  his  fury,  he 
thrust  his  hand  into  his  breast,  and  tore  from  his  shirt 
the  pin  he  had  been  given  to  wear,  and  flung  it  on  the 
floor,  stamped  upon  it,  and  bolted  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XX 

an  hour,  bareheaded,  he  went  plunging  into  the 
darkness,  a  prey  to  a  nervous  crisis,  that  left  him 
shaking  in  every  muscle.  He  knew  the  extent  of  his 
passions,  and  the  anger  which  had  swept  over  him  left 
him  weak  and  frightened. 

"  It's  lucky  that  runt  of  a  Reynolds  held  his  tongue," 
he  said  hotly.  "  By  the  Lord,  I  don't  know  what  I  would 
have  done  to  him.  Here,  I  must  get  hold  of  myself. 
This  is  terrible.  Well,  thank  Heaven,  it's  over." 

He  controlled  himself  slowly,  and  came  back,  limp  and 
weak;  yet  beyond  the  physical  reaction  was  a  liberated 
soaring  of  the  spirit. 

"  I'm  glad  I  did  it !  I  never  was  gladder ! "  he  said 
solemnly.  "  Good-by  to  the  whole  society  game,  Skull 
and  Bones,  and  all  the  rest.  But  I  take  my  stand  from 
now  on,  and  I  stand  on  my  own  feet.  I'm  glad  of  it." 
Then  he  thought  of  Jean  Story,  and  he  was  troubled. 
"  I  wonder  if  she'll  understand  ?  I  can't  help  it.  I 
couldn't  do  anything  else.  Now,  I  suppose  the  whole 
bunch  will  turn  on  me.  So  be  it." 

It  was  long  after  midnight  when  he  came  back  gloom 
ily  to  the  light  still  staring  from  his  window,  and  toiled  up 
the  heavy  steps.  When  he  entered  the  room,  Le  Baron, 
Bob  Story,  and  Joe  Hungerford  were  sitting  silently, 
waiting  for  him,  and  in  Story's  hand  was  the  pin 
bruised  by  his  furious  heel. 

He  saw  at  once  the  full  strength  of  the  appeal  that  was 
to  be  made  to  him,  and  he  closed  the  door  wearily. 

279 


280  STOVER   AT    YALE 

"  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it,"  he  said  slowly  ~"  The 
whole  thing  is  done  and  buried." 

Bob  Story,  agitated  and  solemn,  came  to  him. 

"  Dink,  this  is  awful  —  the  whole  thing  is  awful,"  he 
said  earnestly.  "You've  got  to  talk  it  out  with  us." 

"  Do  you  understand,  Bob,"  Stover  said  suddenly, 
"just  what  happened  in  this  room?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do." 

"  I  don't  believe  it." 

"  Dink,  I  want  you  to  listen  to  me  a  moment,"  said 
Le  Baron.  "  It's  been  rotten  business,  the  whole 
wretched  thing.  I  can  understand  how  you  felt. 
Reynolds  and  you  got  on  each  other's  nerves.  You  each 
said  what  you  didn't  mean.  It  was  damned  unfortunate. 
He  put  things  to  you  like  a  fool,  and  I  was  telling  him 
so  when  you  broke  into  the  room.  He  was  all  up  on 
edge  from  something  that  had  gone  before." 

"  Oh,  I  lost  my  temper,"  said  Stover.     "  I  know  it." 

"  I'd  have  done  the  same,"  said  Hungerford  openly. 

"  Now,  Dink,  there  isn't  one  of  us  here  that  doesn't 
like  you,  and  look  up  to  you,"  said  Story,  with  his  irre 
sistible  charm.  "  We  know  you're  every  inch  a  man, 
and  what  you  do  you  believe  in.  But,  Dink,  we're  all 
friends  together,  and  this  is  a  terrible  thing  to  us.  We 
want  you  toJaJce_J)ack^rQur_^in,  and  shut^up  this  whole 
business*.  WjlLyilU  ?  " 

"  I'd  do  a  great  deal  for  you,  Bob  Story,"  said  Stover, 
looking  him  in  the  eyes,  "  more  than  for  any  one  else,  but 
I  can't  do  this." 

He  said  it  calmly,  with  a  little  sadness.  The  three 
were  impressed  with  the  finality  of  the  judgment. 
Story,  standing  with  the  cast-off  pin  in  his  hand,  turning 
and  twisting  it,  said  slowly : 

"  Dink,  do  you  really  mean  it  ?  " 


STOVER    AT    YALE  281 

"  I  do." 

"  It's  a  serious  thing  you're  doing,  Stover,"  said  Le 
Baron,  with  the  first  touch  of  formality,  "  and  I  don't 
think  it  should  be  done  in  anger." 

"  I'm  not." 

"  Remember  that  you  are  judging  a  whole  society  — • 
your  own  friends  —  by  what  one  man  happened  to  say  to 
you  in  a  moment  of  irritation." 

"  I  don't  want  to  talk  of  what's  done,"  said  Stover 
slowly,  for  his  head  was  throbbing.  "  I  know  myself, 
and  I  know  nothing  is  going  to  make  me  go  back  on 
what  I've  said.  I'm  only  going  to  say  a  word,  and  then 
I'm  going  into  my  room  and  going  to  bed.  Le  Baron  " — 
with  a  sudden  rise  of  his  voice  he  turned  and  faced  the 
junior — "  don't  think  I  don't  understand  what  it  means 
that  I'm  giving  up.  I  get  what  you  mean  when  you 
start  in  calling  me  Stover.  I  know  as  well  as  I'm  stand 
ing  here  that  you  and  Reynolds  will  keep  me  out  of 
Bones,  whether  I  make  captain  or  not.  And  that'll  hurt 
me  a  good  bit  —  I  admit  it.  Now  don't  let's  quibble. 
It  isn't  the  way  Reynolds  said  what  he  did  —  though  that 
did  rile  me  —  it's  what  was  told  me,  indirectly  or  directly 
—  it's  the  same  thing ;  you  men  in  sophomore  societies 
"would  limit  my  freedom  of  choice.  There  you  are.  I'm 
against  you  now,  because  for  the  first  time  I  see  how 
the  thing  works  out,  because  you're  wrong!  You're  a 
bad  influence  for  those  who  are  in,  and  a  rotten  influ 
ence  for  the  whole  college.  Now  I've  made  up  my  mind 
to  just  one  thing.  I'm  going  to  finish  up  here, at  the  head 
of  my  own  business  —  my  own  master ;  and  I'm  not  going 
to  be  in  a  position  to  be  told  by  any  one  in  your  class 
or  my  class  what  I'm  to  do." 

"  One  moment."  Le  Baron  rose  as  Stover  moved 
towards  the  bedroom.  "  There's  another  side  to  it." 


282  STOVER    AT    YALE 

"What  other  side?" 

"  Whatever  you  decide,  and  I  won't  take  your  answer 
until  the  morning,"  said  Le  Baron  solemnly,  "  I  want 
you  to  give  me  your  word  that  what's  happened  to-night 
remains  a  secret." 

"  I  won't  give  my  word  to  that  or  anything  else,"  said 
Dink  defiantly.  "  I  shall  do  exactly  what  I  think  is  right 
to  be  done,  and  for  that  reason  only.  Now  you'll  have 
to  excuse  me.  Good  night." 

He  went  to  his  bedroom,  shut  the  door,  and  without 
undressing  tumbled  on  the  bed,  and,  still  hearing  in  a 
confused  jumble  the  murmur  of  voices,  dropped  off  to 
sleep. 

He  was  startled  out  of  heavy  dreams  by  a  beating  in 
his  ears,  and  sprang  up  to  find  Bob  Story  thundering  on 
his  door.  He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  still  an  hour 
before  chapel. 

When  he  entered  his  dim  study,  Story  was  waiting, 
and  Hungerford  uncoiling  from  the  couch  where  he  had 
passed  the  night. 

"  Have  you  fellows  been  here  all  night?  "  said  Stover, 
stopping  short. 

"  Dink,  we  want  a  last  chance  to  talk  this  over,"  said 
Story  solemnly.  "  We've  all  had  a  chance  to  sleep  it  out. 
Le  Baron  isn't  here,  just  Joe  and  myself  —  your  friends." 

"  You  make  it  hard  for  me,  boys,"  said  Dink,  shaking 
his  head. 

Hun^erfoj^i  rose  with  the  stiffness  of  the  night,  and 
coming  to  Stover,  took  him  by  the  shoulders. 

"  Damn  you,  Dink,"  he  said,  "  get  this  straight,  we're 
not  thinking  about  the  society,  we're  thinking  about  you 
—  about  your  future.  And  I  want  you  to  know  this : 
wW^v^rj^iLjrlfiddf,  Tna-yoiir  frienj  and_j^ou.d_to^  be 
it." 


STOVERATYALE  283 

"  What  Joe  says  is  what  I  feel,"  said  Story,  as  Stover, 
much  affected,  stood  looking  at  the  ground.  "  We're 
sticking  by  you,  Dink  —  that's  why  I'm  going  to  try  once 
more.  Can't  you  go  on  in  the  society,  make  no  open 
break,  and  still  fight  for  what  you  believe  in  —  what  Joe 
and  I  believe  in,  too  ?  " 

"  But,  Bob,  I  think  they're  wrong  through  and  through 
—  you  don't  understand  —  I'm  for  wiping  them  out 
now." 

"  That  whole  question's  coming  up,  and  coming  up 
soon,"  continued  Story  earnestly,  "  and  a  lot  of  our  own 
crowd  will  line  up  for  you.  Work  inside  the  crowd,  if 
you  can  see  it  that  way,  Dink.  There  are  only  five  of 
us  know  what's  happened,  and  no  one  else  need 
know." 

"  Wait  a  moment,  Bob,  old  fellow,"  said  Dink,  stop 
ping  him.  "  You  two  have  got  down  under  my  skin, 
and  I  won't  forget  it.  Now  I'm  going  to  ask  you  fel 
lows  a  couple  of  questions.  First:  you  think  if  I  stick 
to  my  determination  that  most  of  the  crowd'll  turn  on 
me?" 

"  Yes." 

"  That  I  have  as  much  chance  of  being  tapped  for 
Bones  as  Jackson,  the  sweep  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Dink." 

"  Now,  boys,  honest,  if  I  took  back  my  pin  for  any  such 
reason  as  that,  wouldn't  I  be  a  spineless,  calculating  little 
quitter?" 

Neither  answered. 

"  What  would  you  think  of  me,  Joe  —  Bob  ?  " 

"  Damn  the  luck,"  said  Hungerford.  He  did  not 
attempt  to  answer  the  question.  Neither  did  Bob 
Story.  They  shook  hands  with  Stover,  and  went  out 
defeated. 


284  STOVERATYALE 

Just  how  big  a  change  in  his  college  career  his  renun 
ciation  would  make,  Stover  had  not  understood  until  in 
the  weeks  that  succeeded  he  came  to  feel  the  full  effects 
of  the  resentment  he  had  aroused  in  the  society  crowds, 
now  at  bay  before  a  determined  opposition. 

The  second  morning,  as  he  went  down  High  Street  to 
his  eating- joint,  Hunger  ford  was  loafing  ahead  of  him, 
ostensibly  conning  a  lesson.  Stover  joined  him,  unaware 
of  the  friendly  intent  of  the  action.  They  went  inside, 
laughing  together,  to  where  a  score  of  men  were  rubbing 
their  eyes  over  hasty  breakfasts.  Four-fifths  of  them 
belonged  to  sophomore  societies. 

"  Morning,  everybody,"  said  the  new  arrivals,  in  uni 
son,  and  the  answer  came  back: 

"  Hello,  Joe." 

"  Hello,  Dink." 

"  Shove  in  here." 

At  their  arrival  a  little  constrained  silence  was  felt, 
for  the  news  had  somehow  passed  into  rumor.  Oppo 
site  Stover,  Jim  Hunter  was  sitting.  He  nodded  to 
Hungerford,  and  then  with  deliberation  continued  a  con 
versation  with  Tommy  Bain,  who  sat  next  to  him. 

Stover  perceived  the  cut  instantly,  as  others  had  per 
ceived  it.  He  sat  a  moment  quietly,  his  glance  concen 
trated  on  Hunter. 

"  Oatmeal  or  hominy  ?  "  said  the  waiter  at  his  back. 

"  One  moment."  He  raised  his  hand,  and  the  gesture 
concentrated  the  attention  of  the  table  on  him.  "  Why, 
how  do  you  do,  Jim  Hunter  ?  "  he  said,  with  every  word 
cut  sharp. 

There  wras  a  breathless  moment,  and  a  nervous  stir 
ring  under  foot,  as  Hunter  turned  and  looked  at  Stover. 
Their  glances  matched  one  another  a  long  moment,  and 
then  Hunter,  with  an  excess  of  politeness,  said : 


STOVERATYALE  285 

"  Oh,  hello  —  Stover." 

Instantly  there  was  a  relieved  hum  of  voices,  and  a 
clatter  of  cutlery. 

"  I'll  take  oatmeal  now,"  said  Stover  calmly.  Story, 
glancing  over,  saw  two  spots  of  scarlet  standing  out  on 
his  cheeks,  and  realized  how  near  the  moment  had  come 
to  a  violent  scene. 

"  Dink,  old  gazabo,"  said  Hungerford,  as  they  walked 
over  to  chapel,  "  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  You  can't 
go  about  the  whole  time  with  a  chip  on  your  shoulder." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  can,"  said  Dink  between  his  teeth.  "  I'll 
stick  right  where  I  am.  And  I'd  like  to  see  Jim  Hunter 
or  any  one  else  try  that  again  on  me ! " 

Hungerford  shook  his  head. 

"  You  know,  Dink,  you  must  see  both  sides.  Now 
from  Hunter's  side,  you've  smashed  all  traditions,  and 
given  us  a  blow  that  may  be  a  knockout,  considering  the 
state  of  feeling  in  the  college.  Hunter's  a  society  man, 
believes  in  them  heart  and  soul." 

"  Then  let  him  come  to  me  and  say  what  he  thinks." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure,  Dink,"  said  Joe,  with  a  glance, 
"  that  there  isn't  some  other  reason  for  the  way  you  two 
feel  about  each  other  ?  " 

"  You  mean  jealousy?"  said  Dink,  flushing  a  little. 
"Bob's  sister?  Yes,  there's  that.  But  from  the  first 
we've  been  on  opposite  sides."  He  hesitated  a  moment, 
and  then  asked :  "  I  say,  Joe,  what  does  Bob  think 
about  what  I've  done?  Tell  me  straight." 

"  Of  course  he  respects  you,"  said  Hungerford  care 
fully,  "  more  now  than  I  think  he  did  last  year,  but  — 
Bob's  a  society  man  —  all  these  Andover  fellows  are 
brought  up  in  the  idea,  you  know  —  and  I  think  it's  kind 
of  a  jolt." 

"  I  suppose  it  is,"  said  Stover,  with  a  little  depression. 


286  STOVERATYALE 

He  would  like  to  have  asked  Hungerford  to  state  his 
case  to  Jean  Story,  but  he  lacked  the  courage  of  his  boy 
ish  impulse.  The  thought  of  Jean  Story,  as  he  sat  in 
chapel,  came  to  him  like  a  temptation.  The  Judge  was 
of  the  Skull  and  Bones  alumni,  Bob  was  sure  to  go ;  all 
the  influences  about  her  were  of  belief  in  the  finality  of 
that  judgment. 

"  Yes,  and  Hunter  will  go  in  with  sailing  colors ; 
he'll  never  risk  anything,"  he  said  bitterly,  "  and  I'll  stand 
up  and  take  my  medicine,  for  doing  what?  For  show 
ing  I  had  a  backbone.  But  no  one  will  ever  know  it  out 
side.  They'll  think  it's  something  wrong  in  my  char 
acter —  they  always  do.  Stover,  Yale's  star  end,  misses 
out  for  Bones!  That's  the  slogan.  Cheating  at  cards 
or  bumming.  I  wonder  what  she'll  think?  Lord,  that's 
the  hard  part !  " 

For  a  week,  proud  as  Lucifer,  on  edge  for  an  oppor- 
tunity,  he  stuck  it  out  at  the  eating-joint,  knowing  the 
hopelessness  of  it  all  —  that  what  he  wanted  had  gone, 
and  no  amount  of  bravado  could  make  him  wink  the 
fact,  that  in  the  midst  of  his  own  crowd,  where  he  had 
stood  as  a  leader,  he  was  now  regarded  as  an  outsider. 

In  the  second  week  he  gav^ipthejjsejessjght,  and 
went  to  Commons,  to  the  table  where  Segaji^inabel,  and 
BrockbursL^aie.  They  forebore  to  ask  him  the  reasons 
of  the  change,  and  he  gave  no  explanation.  That  some 
thing  had  happened  which  had  caused  him  to  break  away 
from  his  society  was  soon  a  matter  of  common  rumor, 
and  several  incorrect  versions  circulated,  all  vastly  to  his 
credit.  His  influence  in  the  body  of  the  class  was  corre 
spondingly  increased,  and  Gimbel  once  or  twice  ap 
proached  him  with  offers  to  run  him  for  manager  of  the 
crew  or  the  Junior  Prom. 

One  day,  about  a  month  after  his  withdrawal,  when, 


"REGAN  WAS  HIS  ONE  FRIEND"— Page  288. 


STOVERATYALE  287 

bundled  up  in  his  dressing-gown,  he  went  shuffling  into 
the  basement  for  a  cold  tub,  he  had  quite  a  shock,  that 
brought  home  visually  to  him  the  realization  of  the  price 
he  had  paid. 

It  had  been  the  practise  from  long  custom  to  inscribe 
on  the  walls  tentative  lists  of  the  probable  selections 
from  the  class  for  the  three  senior  societies.  On  this 
particular  list  his  name  had  stood  at  the  head  from  the 
beginning,  and  the  constant  familiar  sight  of  it  had 
always  brought  him  a  warm,  secure  pleasure. 

All  at  once,  as  he  looked  at  it,  he  perceived  a  leaden 
blur  where  his  name  had  stood,  and  the  names  of  Bain 
and  Hunter  heading  the  list. 

"  I  suppose  they've  got  me  down  among  the  last  now," 
he  said,  with  a  long  breath.  He  searched  the  list,  his 
name  was  not  even  on  it.  This  popular  estimation  of 
what  he  himself  believed  had  nevertheless  power  to 
wound  him  deeply. 

"Well,  it's  so  —  I  knew  it,"  he  said;  but  it  was  said 
in  bitterness,  with  a  newer  and  keener  realization. 

He  began  indeed  to  feel  like  an  outsider,  and,  rebelling 
against  the  injustice  of  it  all,  to  set  his  heart  in  bitterness. 
Hungerford  and  Bob  Story,  Dopey  McNab  often,  tried 
to  keep  up  with  him,  but,  understanding  their  motives, 
he  was  proudly  sensitive,  and  sought  rather  to  avoid  them. 

Meanwhile  the  opposition  to  the  ,^phr>*nr>^  gnrmtipg 
reached  the  point  of  open  revolt,  and  a_jnass  meeting  was 
held,  which,  as  had  been  planned,  caused  a  stir  through 
out  the  press  of  the  country,  and  brought  in  from  the 
alumni  a  storm  of  protest. 

Stover,  himself,  despite  his  inclination  to  come  for 
ward  in  direct  opposition,  after  a  long  debate,  remained 
silent,  feeling  bound  by  the  oath  he  had  given  at  his  initi 
ation. 


288  STOVERATYALE 

Shortly  after  the  news  spread  like  wildfire  that  the 
President,  taking  cognizance  of  the  intolerable  state  of 
affairs,  had  summoned  representatives  of  the  three  sopho 
more  societies  before  him,  and  given  them  a  month  to 
deliberate  and  decide  on  some  scheme  of  reform  that 
would  be  comprehensive  and  adequate. 

Rightly  or  wrongly,  Stover  felt  that  these  develop 
ments  intensified  the  feeling  of  the  society  element 
against  him.  A  few  weeks  outside  the  boundaries,  de 
spite  all  his  bravado,  had  brought  home  to  him  how  much 
he  cared  for  the  companionship  of  those  from  whom  he 
had  separated. 

Regan^was  his  one  friend ;  Brockhurst  stimulated  him  ; 
and  in  the  inters  Ricketts, 

and  others  he  had  found  a  xsjrtaJi^inspiration.  But  after 
all,  the  men  of  his  own  kind  —  Story,  TTungerf ord,  and 
others,  whom  from  pride  he  now  avoided  —  were  largely 
the  men  of  the  society  crowd.  They  spoke  a  language  he 
understood,  they  came  from  a  home  that  was  like  his 
home,  and  their  judgment  of  him  would  go  with  him  out 
into  the  new  relations  in  life. 

It  was  a  time  of  depression  and  bitter  revolt  at  what 
he  knew  was  the  injustice  of  his  ostracism,  forgetting 
how  much  was  of  his  own  proud  choosing. 

He  wandered  from  crowd  to  crowd,  rather  taciturn  and 
restless,  seeking  diversion  with  a  consuming  nervousness. 
The  new  restlessness  of  spirit  drove  him  away  from  the 
conferences  in  Regan's  and  Swazey's  rooms  to  the  com 
pany  of  idlers.  For  a  period,  in  his  pride  and  bitterness, 
he  let  go  of  himself,  flung  the  reins  to  the  wind,  and 
started  down  hill  with  a  gallop. 

In  pursuance  of  his  policy  of  open  defiance,  he  chose 
to  appear  at  Mory's  with  the  wildest  element  of  the  class. 
His  companions  were  a  little  in  awe  of  his  grim,  concen- 


STOVER    AT    YALE  289 

trated  figure;  when  he  sat  into  a  game  of  poker  or  joined 
a  table  of  revelers,  he  did  it  with  no  zest.  He  never 
joined  in  the  chorus,  and  if  he  occasionally  broke  out  into 
a  boisterous  laugh,  there  was  always  a  jarring  note  to  it, 
that  caused  his  companions  to  glance  at  him  uneasily. 
With  the  impetuousness  of  his  nature,  he  outstripped  his 
associates,  plunging  deeper  and  deeper,  obstinately  re 
solved,  into  the  black  gulf  of  his  cynicism.  In  a  week 
his  excesses  became  college  gossip,  and,  unknown  to 
Stover,  the  subject  of  many  long  conferences  among  his 
friends. 

One  Friday  night,  as,  straying  aimlessly  from  room  to 
room,  he  set  out  for  Mory's  in  quest  of  Tom  Kelly  and 
a  group  of  Sheff  pagans,  he  was  trudging  along  the  hard 
ways  in  front  of  Welch  Hall,  fists  sunk  in  his  pockets, 
head  down  under  a  slouch  hat,  when  he  chanced  on  Tom 
Regan  coming  out  of  the  Brick  Row. 

"  Hello  there,  bantam,"  said  Regan,  with  the  preroga 
tive  of  his  size. 

"  Hello,  Tom,"  he  said,  but  without  enthusiasm,  for 
he  had  rather  avoided  him  in  company  with  the  rest  of 
his  old  friends. 

"  That's  a  deuced  cordial  greeting !  Where  are  you 
bound,  stranger  ?  " 

"  Mory's." 

"  Mory's,"  said  Regan,  appearing  to  consider.  "  Good 
idea.  I've  got  a  hankering  after  a  toby  of  musty  ale  and 
a  rabbit  myself.  Wait  till  I  stow  these  books  and  I'll 
join  you." 

Stover  stood  frowning,  suspicious  and  rebelling,  for  at 
that  age  it  is  a  point  of  honor,  when  a  man  of  the  world 
resolves  to  run  his  head  against  a  stone  wall,  that  any 
interference  from  a  friend  is  regarded  as  an  unwarranted 
insult. 


290  STOVERATYALE 

"  He  thinks  he'll  try  the  big  brother  act  on  me,"  he 
said,  scowling.  He  was  not  in  a  particularly  good 
humor,  nor  was  his  head  clear  from  several  nights  that 
had  gone  their  reeling  way. 

When  they  entered  Mory's,  Tom  Kelly,  Dopey  McNab, 
and  Buck  Waters  were  already  grouped  in  the  inner 
room. 

"  Well,  old  flinthead,  how  do  you  feel  after  last 
night  ?  "  said  Kelly,  making  room  for  them. 

"  Fine,"  said  Dink  mendaciously,  secretly  pleased  at 
the  tribute  to  his  sporting  talents  before  Regan. 

"  More'n  I  can  say,"  said  Dopey,  affectionately  feeling 
of  his  head.  "  Curse  the  man  who  invented  fish-house 
punch." 

"  Get  home  all  right?  "  continued  Kelly. 

"  Sure." 

"  I  had  a  little  tiff  with  a  cop.  If  he'd  been  smaller, 
I'd  have  taken  his  shield  away.  He  was  most  impudent. 
Never  mind,  I  beat  him  in  a  foot  race." 

"  Cocktails,"  said  Stover,  resolved  that  Regan  should 
be  well  punished.  "  Make  it  two  for  me,  Louis,  I'll  have 
to  catch  up." 

"  I'll  stick  to  a  toby  and  a  rabbit,"  said  Regan,  without 
a  change  of  expression. 

"  Cocktail,  Dopey  ?  "  continued  Stover,  with  a  million 
aire  gesture. 

"  I  never  refuse,"  said  Dopey,  who  planned  to  go 
through  life  on  that  virtuous  method. 

With  such  a  beginning,  matters  progressed  with  re 
markable  facility.  Stover,  taciturn  and  in  an  ugly  mood, 
constantly  hurried  the  rounds,  matching  drink  for  drink, 
secretly  resolved  to  prove  his  supremacy  here  as  else 
where.  Regan,  after  two  tobies,  withdrew  from  the 


STOVERATYALE  291 

contest,  sitting  silently  puffing  on  his  huge  pipe,  but  with 
out  attempt  at  interference.  Bob  Story  and  Hungerford 
came  in,  and  went  away  with  a  glance  at  Stover's  clouded 
face  and  Regan's  stolid,  unfathomable  expression. 
When  midnight  arrived,  and  Louis  came  in  with  apolo 
gies  to  announce  the  closing,  there  was  quite  a  reckoning 
to  be  paid. 

Stover  was  the  best  of  the  lot,  doggedly  resolved  to 
show  no  effects  of  what  he  had  taken.  He  felt  a  hazi 
ness  in  his  vision,  and  words  that  were  spoken  seemed 
to  be  whirled  away  without  record,  but  his  legs  stood 
firm,  and  his  head  was  still  under  control.  Buck  Waters 
and  a  Sheff  man  took  Tom  Kelly  home  by  a  circuitous 
route  to  avoid  either  a  wrestling  match  or  a  foot  race 
with  too  zealous  members  of  the  New  Haven  police 
force ;  and  Stover  had  the  fierce  pride  of  showing  Regan 
that  he  could  take  charge  of  the  hilarious  but  wabbly 
Dopey  McNab,  who,  moved  by  the  finest  feelings  of  the 
brotherhood  of  man,  was  determined  to  scatter  his  super 
fluous  change  among  his  brother  beings. 

With  great  dignity  and  impressiveness,  Stover,  sup 
porting  one  side,  continued  to  give  foggy  directions  to 
Regan  on  the  other,  until,  come  to  McNab's  quarters, 
they  delivered  that  joyously  exuberant  person  into  his 
bed,  propped  up  his  head,  opened  the  window,  locked  the 
door  and  left  the  key  outside,  to  insure  the  termination 
of  the  night's  adventure. 

Stover  went  down  the  steep,  endless  stairs  with  great 
deliberation  and  minute  pains. 

"Dopey's  got  weak  head  —  no  good  —  stand  noth 
ing,"  he  said  seriously  to  Regan. 

"  Well,  we've  fixed  him  up  for  the  night,"  said  Regan 
cheerily.  "  You've  got  a  wonderful  top,  old  sport." 


292  STOVERAT    YALE 

"  I'm  pretty  good  —  Dopey's  got  the  weak  head,"  said 
Stover,  taking  his  arm.  "  I'm  good,  I  can  put  'em  under 
the  table  —  all  under  the  table." 

"  Good  for  you." 

"  Tom,  you  aren't  —  aren't  in  critical  at-attochood,  are 
you  ?  "  said  Dink,  with  all  feeling  of  resentment  gone. 

"  Lord,  no,  boy." 

"  'Cause  it  does  me  good  —  this  does  me  good.  I  feel 
bad  —  pretty  bad,  Tom,  about  some  things.  You  don't 
know  —  can't  tell  —  but  I  feel  bad  —  this  does  me  good 

—  forget  —  you  understand." 
"  I  understand." 

"  You're  a  good  friend,  Tom.     They  don't  understand 

—  no  one  else  understands.     I'd  like  to   shake  hands. 
Thank  you.     Good  night." 

They  had  come  opposite  the  Brick  Row,  and  Regan, 
knowing  the  other's  true  condition,  would  have  preferred 
to  see  him  along  to  his  room.  But  he  knew  of  old  the 
danger  of  making  mistakes,  so  he  said: 

"  Feel  all  right,  old  bantam?  " 

"  Fine."  Stover  took  a  step  or  two,  and  then  re 
turned.  "I  put  'em  to  bed,  didn't  I?" 

"  You  certainly  did." 

"  Never  'fects  me." 

"  You're  a  wonder." 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  company." 

"  Good  night." 

Stover,  intent  only  on  making  his  entry,  a  hundred 
yards  away,  felt  a  roaring  in  his  ears,  and  sudden  jumble 
and  confusion  before  him. 

"  Must  get  there  —  self-control  —  that's  it,  self-con 
trol,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  by  a  supreme  effort  he 
reached  his  entry,  pushed  open  the  door,  and,  stumbling 
in  out  of  Regan's  vision,  sat  heavily  down  on  the  steps. 


'CURSE  THE  FELLOW  WHO  INVENTED  FISH- HOUSE  PUNCH*  " 

—Page  290. 


STOVERATYALE  293 

Some  indistinct  time  after  he  beheld  before  him  a  little 
spectacled  figure  in  pink  pajamas. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Wookey,  sir." 

"  What's  your  class  ?  " 

"  Freshman,  sir." 

"  Very  well.  All  right.  You  can  help  me  —  help  me 
up.  You  know  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

The  pink  pajamas  approached,  and  with  an  effort  he 
rose,  and,  grasping  the  proffered  shoulder,  tumbled  up 
the  steps.  When  he  reached  his  room  his  mind  seemed 
to  clear  a  moment,  like  the  sudden  drifting  to  and  fro 
of  a  fog. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  said,  frowning. 

"  Wookey,  sir." 

"  Where  do  you  room  ?  " 

"  On  the  first  landing,  sir." 

"  Why  do  you  wear  pink  ones  ?  " 

The  little  freshman,  hero-worshipper,  face  to  face  with 
his  first  great  emotion,  the  conduct  of  an  intoxicated 
man,  blurted  out : 

"  Don't  you  like  'em,  sir?  " 

"  Keep  'em  on,"  said  Stover  magnanimously.  "  So 
you're  a  freshman." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Suddenlyjie  felt  impressed  with  his  duty,  his  obvious 
duty  JO  nnfijiplnw  him,  x""\ 

"  Freshman,"  he  said  thickly,  "  I  want  you  listen  to 
me.  Never  drink  to  excess  —  understand.  You  begin 
ning  college  —  school  of  character  —  hold  on  yourself  — 
lead  a  good  life  —  self-control's  the  great  thing  —  take 
it  from  me  —  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Wookey,  awed  and  a  little  frightened 


294  STOVERATYALE 

at  the  service  he  was  rendering  to  the  great  Dink  Stover. 

"  That's  all,"  said  Stover  benignly.  "  Is  —  is  my  bed 
room  still  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  may  lead  me  to  it." 

When  he  had  been  brought  to  his  bed  he  recalled  the 
pink  pajamas,  and  said  : 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  courtesy  and  your  kindness." 
Then  he  said  to  himself  :  "  It  does  me  good  —  forget  — 
happy  now." 

A  moment  later  the  fog  closed  over  his  consciousness 
again  and  he  was  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

NIGHT  after  night,  Wookey,  the  little  freshman 
from  a  mountain  village  of  Maine,  the  shadow  of 
a  grind,  whom  no  one  knew  in  his  class,  and  who  would 
never  know  any  one,  waited  over  his  books  the  hour  of 
twelve  and  the  arrival  of  the  great  man  gone  wrong, 
whose  secret  only  he  possessed.  Sometimes  at  the  clat 
ter  on  the  stairs,  when  he  went  out  eagerly,  the  hero 
would  be  in  control,  and  would  say: 

"  Hello,  Wookey,  how  are  you  to-night  ?  " 

"  All  right,  sir,"  he  would  answer,  shifting  from  foot 
to  foot,  afraid  to  volunteer  assistance. 

"  All  right  myself,"  Stover  would  answer.  "  See  you 
to-morrow.  Good  night." 

Gradually,  however,  to  his  delight,  Stover  grew  to  like 
the  strange  meetings,  and  permitted  him  to  accompany 
him  to  his  room  to  open  the  window,  draw  off  the  boots 
and  disappear  with  the  promise  to  thunder  on  his  door  in 
time  for  chapel.  In  the  daytime  they  never  met. 

Stover  never  failed  to  thank  him  with  the  utmost  cere 
mony.  Often  the  dialogue  that  ensued  was  farcically 
humorous,  only  little  Wookey,  solemn  as  an  owl,  never 
laughed. 

One  night  Stover,  draped  in  difficult  equilibrium  on 
the  mantelpiece,  suddenly,  in  his  new  parental  solicitude 
for  the  freshman,  bethought  himself  of  the  curriculum. 

"  Wookey." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

295 


296  STOVERATYALE 

"  One  thing  must  speak  about  —  meant  speak  about 
long  time  ago." 

"  What,  sir  ?  "  said  Wookey,  looking  up  apprehensively 
over  his  spectacles. 

"  Study,"  said  Stover,  with  terrific  solemnity.  "  Want 
you  be  good  scholar." 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir." 

"  Want  you  be  validict  —  you  understand  what  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Wookey,  college  life  serious,  finest  thing  in  it's  study, 
don't  neglect  study,  you  understand." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  do  study  pretty  hard." 

"  Not  enough,"  said  Stover  furiously.  "  Study  all 
time !  What  'cher  do  to-day  ?  Recite  in  —  in  Greek, 
Latin,  eh?" 

"Yes,  sir  — all  right." 

"  Good,  very  good  —  proud  of  you,  Wookey,"  said 
Stover,  satisfied.  "  Must  be  good  influence  —  under 
stand  that,  Wookey.  Going  to  ask  every  night." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  All  right.     Go  an'  study  now.     Study  lot  more." 

This  feeling  of  the  influence  he  was  exerting  for 
Wookey's  academic  betterment  was  so  strong  in  Dink 
when  the  hour  of  midnight  had  passed  that  shortly 
after  he  brought  McNab  home  with  him  to  witness  his 
works. 

When  Wookey  appeared,  something  displeased  Stover. 
His  protege  was  not  as  he  should  be  presented.  Sud 
denly  he  remembered  —  Wookey  was  not  in  the  pink 
pajamas! 

"  Wookey,"  he  said  sternly. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  The  pink  ones,"  he  said  solemnly. 

"  Very  well,  sir." 


STOVER   AT   YALE  297 

"  Hurry." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Study's  better  in  pink,"  said  Stover  wisely  to  McNab, 
who  was  trying  to  exceed  him  in  dignity.  "  Most  be- 
comin'." 

"Aha!" 

"  Make  him  study,  Dopey,"  continued  Stover.  "  I 
make  him  study." 

"  Want  hear  'm  reshite,"  said  McNab,  unconvinced. 

When  Wookey,  in  changed  costume,  came  puffing 
upstairs,  books  under  his  arm,  McNab,  who  had  been 
exhorted  by  Stover,  viewed  the  pink  pajamas  with 
deliberation,  and  said: 

"  Like  you  in  pink,  Wookey ;  always  wear  'em.  Want 
to  hear  you  reshite." 

"  Reshite,"  said  Stover. 

"Hold  up,"  said  Dopey,  scratching  his  head. 

"What's  matter?" 

"  Where  going  to  sleep  ?  " 

"  Wookey,  suggestions  ?  "  said  Stover,  who  added  in  a 
thundering  whisper  to  McNab,  "  Always  leave  such 
things  to  Wookey." 

The  freshman  busily  took  down  the  cushions  from  the 
window  seat,  piled  up  the  pillows  at  one  end  before  the 
fire,  and  brought  up  a  rug. 

"  Thank  Mr.  Wookey,"  said  Stover  severely. 

"  Mr.  Wookey,  I  thank  you,"  said  McNab,  who  sat 
down  tailor  fashion,  and,  staring  at  a  book  of  geometry 
open  on  his  lap,  said :  "  I'm  most  —  interested  —  most, 
very  fond  of  Horace  —  reshite." 

Wookey  in  the  pink  pajamas,  seated  in  a  sort  of  spinal 
bend,  overwhelmed  by  the  terrifying  delight  of  being 
admitted  to  the  company  of  Olympians,  began  directly 
to  translate  an  ode  of  Horace. 


298  STOVERATYALE 

McNab,  staring  at  the  geometry,  turned  a  casual  page, 
remarking  from  time  to  time  severely : 

"  What's  that !  —  oh,  yes,  h'm  —  quite  right  —  free, 
rather  free,  Dink  —  not  bad,  not  bad  for  freshman." 

"  Is  it  all  right  ?  "  said  Stover  anxiously. 

"All  right." 

"  All  my  influence,"  said  Stover. 

"  Wookey,"  said  McNab,  as  a  judge  would  say  it, 
"  very  fortunate,  sir,  have  such  good  infloonce.  Con- 
grath-ulate  you." 

Wookey,  whether  deceived  by  their  drunken  assump 
tion  of  sobriety,  or  to  conciliate  dangerous  men,  remained 
in  his  corner,  his  book  closed,  blinking  out  from  his  wide 
glasses. 

McNab,  remembering  the  beginning  of  a  discussion 
in  which  he  had  engaged  with  serious  purpose,  suddenly 
began,  shaking  his  head : 

"  Dink,  you  ought  be  better  infloonce  than  y'are." 

Stover  chose  to  be  offended. 

"Why  you  say  that?" 

"  'Cause  'm  right ;  y'oughtn't  drink,  not  a  drop ! " 

"  What  right  you  got  to  say  that?  " 

"  Every  right  —  every,"  said  McNab,  trying  to  remem 
ber  what  was  the  original  destination  of  his  argument. 
"  I'm  bad  example  'n  you're  good  infloonce,  there's  diff, 
see?" 

"Ratsh!" 

"  I  remember,"  said  McNab  all  at  once.  "  I  know 
what  I  want  say.  I'm  going  to  leave  it  to  Wookey. 
Wookey '11  be  the  judge  —  referee  —  y'willin'  ?  " 

"  Willin'." 

"  'M  going  to  give  moral  lecture,"  said  McNab  rapidly, 
then  paused  and  considered  a  long  while.  "  I'm  fond  of 
Stover,  Wookey,  very  fond  —  very  worried,  too,  want 


STOVER   AT   YALE  299 

him  to  stop  drinking  —  bad  for  him  —  bad  for  any  one, 
but  bad  for  him !  " 

Stover,  who  could  still  perceive  the  argument,  laughed 
a  disagreeable  laugh. 

"  He's  laughin'  at  me,  Wookey,"  said  McNab  in  a 
grieved  voice.  "  He  means  by  that  insultin'  laugh  that 
I  sometimes  drink  excess.  I  admit  it ;  I'm  not  proud  of 
it,  but  I  admit  it.  But  there's  a  difference,  and  here's 
where  you  ref'ree,  judge.  When  I  take  'n  occasional 
glass,  I  drink  to  be  happy,  make  others  happy  —  y'under- 
stand,  excesh  of  love  for  humanity,  enjoy  youth  an'  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  you  know.  That's  the  point  —  you're 
ref'ree.  When  Stover  drinks  he  goes  at  in  bad  way,  no 
love  humanity,  joy  of  youth.  That's  the  point,  y'under- 
stand.  I  want  him  to  stop  it,  'cause  he's  my  friend,  he's 
good  infloonce  —  I'm  bad  example." 

"  You're  my  friend  ?  "  said  Stover,  overcome. 

"  You're  besh  friend." 

"  Shake  hands." 

"  Shure." 

"  Dopey,  I  tell  you  truth  —  confide  in  you,"  said  Stover, 
slipping  down  beside  him.  "  Swear." 

"  Swear." 

"  Never  tell." 

"Never!" 

"  I'm  unhappy." 

"No!" 

"  Drink  to  forget,  y'understand." 

"  Must  stop  it,"  said  McNab,  firmly  closing  one  eye, 
and  gazing  fearfully  at  the  yellow  owls  in  front. 

"  Going  to  shtop  it,"  said  Stover,  "  soon  —  stop  soon  — 
promise." 

"Promish?" 

"  Promise !     Y'understand,  want  to  forget." 


300  STOVER    AT    YALE 

"  Must  stop  it,"  repeated  McNab,  turning  from  the 
yellow-eyed  owls  to  Stover. 

"  Promish,"  repeated  Stover  solemnly.  A  moment 
later  he  said  sleepily :  "  I  shay." 

"  Shay  it." 

"  What  —  what  I  going  to  stop  ?  " 

"  What  you,  what  —  McNab  frowned  terrifically  at 
the  owls.  "  Stop  —  must  stop  —  promish  —  what  — 
what  stop?" 

The  question  being  transferred  to  Stover,  he  in  turn 
scratched  his  head  and  sought  to  concentrate  his  memory. 

"  I  promished,"  he  said  slowly,  "  remember  that  —  stop 
—  promish  stop.  Wookey !  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

The  pink  pajamas  approached  with  reluctance,  and 
waited  at  a  safe  distance. 

"'Wookey!  What  — what's  this  all  about?  What's 
it?" 

Wookey,  facing  the  crisis  of  his  life,  hesitated  between 
two  impulses;  but  at  this  moment  the  two  took  solemn 
hold  of  each  other's  hands,  vacillated  and  rolled  over  on 
the  cushions.  Wookey,  in  the  pink  pajamas,  covered 
them  over  with  the  rug,  and  stole  out,  like  a  thief,  carry 
ing  away  a  secret. 

But  despite  McNab's  more  sober  remonstrances  and 
his  own  proclamation,  Stover  did  not  cease  his  headlong 
gallop  down  the  hill  of  Rake's  Progress.  He  still  avoided 
his  old  friends  —  he  had  not  been  to  the  Storys'  home  for 
weeks.  Regan  occasionally  forced  himself  upon  him,  but 
never  offered  a  suggestion.  The  truth  was,  Stover  began 
to  have  a  horror  of  his  own  society,  of  being  left  alone. 
What  he  did,  he  did  without  restraint.  At  the  card 
tables  to  which  he  wandered  he  was  always  clamoring  for 


STOVERATYALE  301 

the  raising  of  the  limit ;  always  ready  to  eat  up  the  night. 
Even  the  most  inveterate  of  the  gamblers  in  his  class  per 
ceived  what  McNab  perceived,  that  there  was  no  pleasure 
in  what  he  did,  but  a  sort  of  self-immolation.  They 
were  a  little  in  awe  of  him,  uneasy  when  he  was  around. 
He  wandered  over  into  Sheff,  and  among  a  group  of 
hard  livers  in  the  Law  School,  getting  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the -maelstrom.  Several  times,  returning  unsteadily 
late  at  night,  he  had  met  Le  Baron,  who  stood  aside,  and 
watched  him  go  with  difficulty  towards  the  haven  of  his 
own  entry,  for  Stover  always  made  it  a  point  of  pride  to 
reach  home  and  Wookey  unaided.  He  never  was  offen 
sive  or  quarrelsome.  On  the  contrary,  his  struggle  was 
always  for  self-control  and  an  excess  of  politeness. 

The  climax  arrived  one  Friday  night  when,  having 
outlasted  the  party,  he  had  put  Tom  Kelly  to  bed,  and 
was  returning  from  Sheff  alone.  He  was  very  well 
pleased  with  himself.  He  had  delivered  Tom  Kelly  to 
his  friends  and  gone  away  without  assistance. 

"  Weak  head,  all  weak  head,"  he  said  to  himself  val 
iantly,  "  all  but  Stover,  Dink  Stover,  old  Rinky  Dink. 
Self-control,  great  self-control.  That's  it,  that's  the 
point.  Never  taken  home  —  walk  myself  —  self-con 
trol."  He  began  to  laugh  at  the  memory  of  Tom  Kelly, 
who  had  insisted  on  going  to  bed  with  one  boot  under 
the  pillow  and  his  watch  on  the  floor.  The  excruciating 
humor  of  it  almost  made  him  collapse.  He  clung  to  the 
nearest  tree  and  wept  for  joy. 

"  Never  hear  end  of  it  —  Tom  Kelly  —  boots  —  won 
derful  —  poor  old  Tom  — 'n  I  walkin'  home  —  alone." 

Some  one  on  the  opposite  sidewalk,  seeing  him  clinging 
hilariously,  stopped.  Stover  straightened  up  instantly, 
adjusted  his  hat  and  started  off. 

"  Mustn't  create  false  impression  —  all  right !     Street 


302  STOVER   AT   YALE 

corner  —  careful  of  street  corner."  He  crossed  with  a 
run  and  a  leap,  and  continued  more  sedately.  "  Know 
just  what  'm  doin'. 

"  Oh,  -father's  mother 
Pays  all  the  bills, 
'N  I  have  all  the  fun." 

Suddenly  he  remembered  he  was  passing  Divinity  Hall, 
and  broke  off  abruptly,  raising  his  hat  in  apology. 

"  'Scuse  me,  no  offense." 

Then  he  considered  anxiously: 

"  Mishtake  —  nothin'  hilar-ious  —  might  be  Sunday." 
He  tried  to  remember  the  day  and  could  not.  He  stopped 
a  laborer  returning  home  with  his  bundle,  and  said  cere 
moniously  : 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  don't  mean  insult  you,  can  you 
tell  me  what  day  the  week  it  is  ?  " 

"  Sure,  me  b'y,"  said  the  Irishman.     "  It's  to-morrow." 

"  Thanks  —  sorry  trouble  you,"  said  Stover,  bowing. 
Then,  pondering  over  the  information,  he  started  hur 
riedly  on  his  way.  "  Knew  it  was  late  —  must  hurry." 

When  he  came  to  the  corner  of  the  campus  he  raised 
his  hat  again  to  the  chapel. 

"  Battell  —  believe  in  compulsory  chapel  —  Yale  de 
mocracy."  He  passed  along  College  Street,  saluting  the 
various  buildings  by  name.  "  Great  inshtoostion  — 
campus  —  Brocky's  right  —  bring  life  back  into  campus, 
bring  it  all  back.  Things  wrong  now  —  everything's 
wrong  —  must  say  so  —  must  stop  an'  fight,  good  fight. 
Regan's  right  'n  Swazey's  right  —  all  right.  Hello,  Don 
nelly.  Salute!" 

The  campus  policeman,  lolling  in  the  shadow  of 
Osborne  Hall,  said: 


STOVER    AT    YALE  303 

"  So  there  you  are  again,  Dink.  A  fine  life  you're 
leadin'." 

Stover  felt  this  was  an  unwarranted  criticism. 

"  Never  saw  any  one  take  me  home,"  he  said.  "  Al 
ways  manage  get  home.  That's  the  point,  that's  it  — 
see?" 

"  Go  on  with  you,"  said  Donnelly.  "  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself  —  you  who  ought  to  be  captain  of 
<he  team." 

Stover  approached  him. 

"Bill  — captain?" 

"What?" 

"  I'm  goin'  to  stop.     Solemn  promish." 

He  went  into  the  campus  and  steadied  himself  against 
an  elm,  gazing  down  the  long  dim  way  to  where  in  the 
shadow  of  the  chapel  was  his  entry. 

"  I  see  it  —  see  it  plainly  —  perfect  self-control. 
What's  that  ?  "  The  trees  seemed  swollen  to  monstrous 
shapes,  and  the  fagades  of  the  dormitories  to  be  set  on 
a  slant,  like  the  leaning  tower  of  Pisa.  He  laughed  cun 
ningly  :  "  Don't  fool  me  —  might  fool  Dopey  —  Tom 
Kelly  —  weak  head  —  don't  fool  me  —  illushion,  pure 
illushion  —  know  all  'bout  it.  Worse  comes  worse,  get 
down  hands  knees." 

"  Well,  Dink,  pickled  again,"  said  the  voice  of  Le  Baron 
from  an  outer  world. 

He  straightened  up,  his  mind  coming  back  to  his  con 
trol,  as  it  always  did  in  the  presence  of  others. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  leaning  up  against  the  cold,  hard 
side  of  Phelp's,  "  bit  of  a  party,  that's  all." 

"  Look  here,  Dink,"  said  Le  Baron,  who  was  ignorant 
of  the  extent  of  the  other's  condition,  "  let's  have  a  few 
plain  words  —  man  to  man." 


304  STOVER   AT.   YALE 

Stover  heard  him  as  from  a  distance,  and  nodded  his 
head  gravely. 

"  Good." 

"  We've  had  our  break,  but  I've  always  respected  you. 
You  thought  I  was  a  snob  then,  and  a  damned  aristocrat. 
Well,  was  I  so  far  wrong?  I  believe  in  the  best  getting 
together  and  keeping  together.  You've  chucked  that  and 
tried  the  other,  haven't  you?  Now  look  where  it's 
brought  you." 

Stover,  his  back  to  the  wall,  heard  him  with  the  clarity 
that  sometimes  comes.  His  head  seemed  to  be  among 
whirling  mists,  but  every  word  came  to  him  as  though 
it  alone  were  the  only  sound  in  a  sleeping  world.  He 
wanted  to  answer,  he  rebelled  at  the  logic,  he  knew  it 
could  be  answered,  but  the  words  would  not  come. 

"  You're  going  to  the  devil,  that's  it  in  good  English 
words,"  said  Le  Baron,  not  without  kindness.  "  You 
ought  to  be  the  biggest  thing  in  your  class,  and  you're 
headed  for  the  biggest  failure.  And  it's  all  because 
you've  cut  loose  from  your  crowd,  Dink  —  from  your 
own  kind,  because  you've  taken  up  with  a  bunch  who 
don't  count,  who  aren't  working  for  anything  here." 

Suddenly  Stover  revolted,  saying  angrily: 

"Hugh!" 

"  I  don't  want  to  hit  you  when  you're  down,"  said  Le 
Baron  quickly.  "  But,  Dink,  man  alive,  you're  too  good 
to  go  to  the  devil.  Brace  up  —  be  a  man.  Get  back  to 
your  own  kind  again." 

"  Hugh,  that's  enough !  " 

He  said  it  sharply,  and  there  was  a  finality  about  it. 

"  I  say,  Dink." 

"Goodnight!" 

He  stood  without  moving  until  he  had  compelled  Le 
Baron  to  leave,  then  he  set  out  for  his  room.  A  great 


STOVERATYALE  305 

anger  swept  over  him  —  at  himself,  at  the  Dink  Stover 
who  had  betrayed  the  cause,  and  given  Le  Baron  the 
right  to  say  what  he  did. 

"  It  isn't  that,"  he  said  furiously,  "  it's  not  for  break 
ing  'way  —  democracy  —  standing  on  m'  own  feet,  no! 
It's  a  lie,  all  a  lie.  It's  m'  own  fault  —  damn  you,  Dink 
Stover,  you're  quitter !  " 

He  marched  into  his  entry,  his  head  on  fire,  but  clear 
with  one  last  resolve,  and  thundered  on  Wookey's  door. 

"Come  out!" 

The  pink  pajamas  flashed  out  as  by  magic.  The  little 
freshman,  perceiving  Stover's  fierce  expression,  drew 
back  in  alarm. 

"  Go'n  to  help  you  up  to-night  —  able  to  do  it,"  said 
Dink,  the  idea  of  assistance  to  another  mingling  in  some 
curious  way  with  his  great  resolve. 

He  took  Wookey  firmly  by  the  arm  and  assisted  him 
up  the  stairs.  Once  in  his  room  he  motioned  him  to  a 
chair. 

"  Sit  down  —  somethin'  to  say  to  you !  " 

Wookey,  frightened,  calculating  the  chances  to  the 
door,  huddled  in  the  big  arm-chair,  his  toes  drawn  up 
under  him,  his  large  eyes  over  the  spectacles  never  daring 
to  deviate  from  the  imperious  glance  of  Stover. 

"Studied  to-day?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Good.  Wookey^  listen  to  me.  I'm  a  quitter,  you 
understand.  I've  fought  fight  —  good  fight  —  big  fight 
—  real  democracy  — 'n  then  I  lost  nerve.  I'm  wrong ; 
I'm  all  wrong..  jJknaw__iL._  Fault's  with  me,  not  what 
fought  for.  Wooke_y,  listen  to  me.  Le  Baron's  wrong,  all 
wrong,  you  understand;  doesn't  know  —  realize  —  see." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Wookey,  in  terror  and  complete  in 
comprehension. 


306  STOVER    AT 

"  I'm  fool  —  big  fool,  but  that's  over,  y'understand. 
Never  give  Le  Baron  chance  say  again  what  he  did  to 
night.  5M  going  fight  again  —  good  fight.  An'  no  one's 
ever  going  say  saw  me  like  this  again,  y'understand." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  freshman  weakly,  terrified  at  the 
passion  that  showed  in  Stover,  rocking  before  the  mantel 
piece. 

"  Last  time  they  ever  get  me  this  way !  " 

The  green  shaded  lamp  was  burning  on  the  table  be 
fore  him. 

"  The  last  time  —  by  God,"  he  said,  and  lifting  his  fist 
he  drove  it  through  the  shattering  glass,  reeled,  and 
stretched  insensible  on  the  floor. 

On  the  following  night,  a  Saturday,  Kelly,  Buck 
Waters,  and  McNab  at  Mory's  set  up  a  shout  of  wel 
come  as  Stover  came  in  quietly : 

"Good  old  Dink!" 

"  Hard  old  head." 

"  What  is  it,  old  boy?  —  get  in  the  game." 

"  A  toby  of  musty,  Louis,"  he  said,  quietly  sitting 
down. 

McNab  glanced  at  him,  aware  of  something  new  in 
the  sharp,  businesslike  movements,  and  the  old  deter 
mined  lines  of  the  lips. 

"  My  round,"  said  Buck  Waters  presently. 

"  Another  toby  for  me,"  said  Stover. 

A  little  later  Kelly  rang  on  the  table : 

"  Bring  'em  in  all  over  again." 

"  Not  for  me,"  said  Stover.  "  I  guess  two'll  be  my 
limit  from  now  on." 

There  was  no  protest.  McNab  surreptitiously,  while 
the  others  were  in  an  argument,  leaned  over  and  patted 
him  on  the  knee. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

WHAT  Stover  in  his  fuddled  consciousness  had  said 
to  little  Wookey  on  that  last  wild  night  returned 
to  him  with  doubled  force  in  the  white  of  the  day.  He 
had  given  his  opponents  t*he  right  to  destroy  all  he  had 
stood  for  by  pointing  to  his  own  example.  He  had  been 
a  deserter  from  the  cause,  but  the  sound  of  the  enemy's 
bugle  had  recalled  him  to  the  battle. 

He  took  the  first  occasion  to  stop  Le  Baron,  for  he 
wanted  the  latter  to  make  no  mistake  about  him. 

"  Hugh,  I  was  rude  as  the  devil  to  you  the  other 
night,"  he  said  directly.  "  I  was  drunk  —  more  than  you 
had  any  idea.  What  I  want  you  to  know  is  this.  You 
put  the  question  right  up  to  me.  You've  forced  me  to 
take  my  stand,  and  I've  done  it.  You're  all  wrong  on 
the  argument,  but  I  don't  blame  you.  Only  after  this 
you'll  never  have  the  chance  to  fling  that  at  me  again. 
You  and  I'll  never  agree  on  things  here,  we're  bound  to 
be  enemies,  but  I  want  to  thank  you  for  opening  my  eyes, 
putting  it  squarely  up  to  me." 

He  left  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  having  said 
what  he  wished  to.  For  several  days  he  kept  by  himself, 
taking  long  walks,  disciplining  the  ship  that  had  sailed 
so  long  in  mutiny.  Then  he  turned  up  in  Regan's  room, 
and  holding  out  his  hand,  said : 

"  Well,  Tom,  it's  over.  How  in  blazes  did  you  keep 
from  telling  me  what  you  thought  about  me  all  this 
time?" 

30T 


308  STOVERATYALE 

Regan,  unruffled  and  undemonstrative,  said  through 
the  cloud  of  his  pipe: 

"  Well,  I've  seen  men  go  through  it  before.  You 
never  were  very  bad." 

"  What  ?  "  said  Stover,  who  felt  rather  annoyed  at  this 
tame  estimate. 

"  It's  not  a  bad  thing  when  you've  licked  the  devil 
four  ways  to  election,"  said  Regan.  "  You  know  what 
you  can  do,  and  that's  something." 

"Ever  been  through  it?"  said  Stover,  still  a  little 
piqued. 

"  Ye-es." 

"  Really,  Tom  ?  "  said  Dink  amazed. 

"  Ran  about  six  months,"  said  Regan,  crossing  his  legs 
and  dreaming.  "  I  wasn't  nice  and  polite  like  you  — 
used  to  clean  up  the  place  —  rather  ugly  time,  but  I 
pulled  out." 

"  You've  never  told  me  about  yourself,"  said  Stover 
tentatively. 

Regan  rose,  reaching  for  the  tobacco.  "  No,  I  never 
have,"  he  said.  "  My  story  is  one  of  those  stories  that 
isn't  told.  Come  on  over  to  Brocky's;  he's  got  a  debat 
ing  scheme  you'll  be  interested  in." 

"  You  damned  unemotional  cuss,"  said  Stover,  looking 
at  him  a  little  defiantly. 

"  Are  you  coming  with  me  this  summer  to  see  a  little 
real  life  —  get  a  little  real  education  ? "  said  Regan 
irrelevantly. 

"  If  you'll  take  me." 

"  Good  boy." 

He  rested  his  hand  on  Stover's  shoulder  a  moment, 
and  gave  him  a  little  tap,  and  the  touch  brought  a  gen 
uine  thrill  of  happiness  to  Dink. 


STOVER    AT    YALE  309 

"  Lord,  what  a  leader  he'd  make,"  he  thought.  "  Why 
is  it,  and  what's  the  story  the  old  rhinoceros  can't  tell, 
I  wonder  ?  " 

The  old  crowd  was  at  B rocky 's,  the  crowd  which  had 
first  stirred  his  imagination.  His  return  produced  quite 
a  sensation.  Nothing  was  said,  but  the  grip  in  the  hand 
shakes  was  different,  and  the  diffident,  hesitant  little  ex 
pressions  of  relieved  good-will  that  came  to  him  touched 
him  more  than  he  would  have  believed. 

Brockhurst  began  to  expound  his  scheme,  speaking 
nervously,  in  compressed  sentences,  as  he  always  did  in 
the  beginning  of  an  argument. 

"  Here's  what  I'm  trying  to  say.  We've  all  been  sit 
ting  round  and  criticizing  —  I  mean  I  have  —  things  up 
here.  Now  why  not  really  suggest  something  —  worth 
while  ?  "  He  frowned,  and  becoming  angry  at  his  own 
difficulty  in  expressing  himself,  gradually  became  more 
fluent.  "We  all  feel  the  need  of  getting  together  and 
having  real  discussions,  and  we  all  agree  that  debating 
here  has  died  out,  become  merely  perfunctory.  The  de 
bates  take  place  in  a  class-room,  and  everything  is  cold, 
stiff,  mechanical.  'Now  that  all  is  unnecessary.  What 
we  want  is  something  spontaneous,  informal  and  with 
the  incentive  of  a  contest.  This  is  my  scheme.  To  take 
a  certain  number  —  say  twenty  —  of  the  men  in  the 
class  who  really  have  ideas,  and  believe  in  expressing 
them ;  form  a  club  to  meet  one  night  a  week  in  some  room 
over,  a  restaurant  where  we  can  sit  about  tables,  smoke, 
have  beer  and  lemonade,  a  bit  to  eat  if  you  want,  .every 
thing  natural,  informal.  Divide  the  club  up  equally  into 
two  camps,  each  camp  to  have  a  leader  for  each  debate, 
who  opens  the  discussion  and  sums  it  up  —  the  only 
formal,  perfunctory  speeches.  Every  one  else  speaks  as 


810  STOVE  R    AT    YALE 

he  feels  like  it,  right  from  his  table.  Have  in  an  out 
side  judge,  and  keep  a  record.  At  the  end  of  the  year 
the  side  that  loses  sets  the  other  up  to  a  banquet." 

Stover  was  interested  at  once.  He  saw  an  instrument 
at  hand  for  which  he  had  been  looking  —  something  to 
bring  the  class  together. 

"  Look  here,  it's  bigger  than  that,  Brocky,"  he  said 
earnestly.  "  I'm  not  criticizing  —  I  like  the  idea,  the 
whole  thing,  you  know.  But  here's  what  we  can  do. 
Make  the  club,  say,  forty,  and  get  into  it  all  the  repre 
sentative  elements  of  the  class  —  make  it  a  real  meeting 
place.  Get  the  fellows  who  are  going  to  be  managers 
and  captains.  They've  all  got  to  speak  —  the  fellows  on 
papers,  the  real  debaters  —  and  you'll  have  something 
that'll  bring  the  class  together." 

"  What  would  you  debate  ?  "  said  Swazey,  while  the 
others  considered  Stover's  suggestion. 

"  College  subjects  every  one  has  an  opinion  about  at 
first,"  said  Regan.  "  And  then  get  into  red-hot  politics." 

"  Of  course  Stover's  idea  is  a  social  one  —  democratic 
if  you  will,"  said  Brockhurst  perplexed.  "  My  idea  was 
for  a  more  intimate  crowd,  all  alike,  trying  to  discuss 
real  things." 

"  Brocky,  I  don't  believe  you  can  do  it,"  said  Stover. 
"  My  experience  is  that  the  big  discussions,  the  ones 
worth  while,  always  are  informal,  just  as  they've  been 
in  this  crowd,  and  the  crowd  mustn't  be  too  large." 
Several  nodded  assent.  "  The  other  thing  is  something 
we  need  in  the  class.  We've  been  torn  to  pieces,  all  at 
loggerheads,  and  I  believe,  outside  of  the  debating,  this 
is  the  first  step  to  getting  together.  Moreover,  I  think 
you'll  find  all  crowds  will  jump  at  the  chance.  Let  me 
talk  it  around." 


STOVE  R    AT    YALE  311 

"  I  think  Dink's  got  the  practical  idea,  Brocky,"  said 
Regan.  "  And,  moreover,  he's  the  man  to  work  it." 

As  they  went  out  together  they  were  met  with  the  sen 
sation  of  the  campus  —  the jsophomore  societies  had  been 
abplished ! 

Stover  stopped  McNab,  who  was  hurrying  past. 

"I  say,  Dopey,  is  it  true?" 

"  Sure  thing." 

"How'd  it  happen?" 

"  Don't  know." 

Gimbel  came  up  with  the  full  news, 

"  The  President  gave  them  a  certain  time,  you  remem 
ber,  to  submit  a  plan  of  reform.  They  reported  they 
couldn't  agree,  so  he  called  the  committee  together  and 
said: 

"  '  Well,  gentlemen,  I  gave  you  the  opportunity  to  con 
form  to  public  sentiment,  you  haven't  been  able  to  do 
it,  you  are  now  abolished.' '' 

"  Who'd  have  thought  it !  " 

"  You  don't  say  so !  " 

"Abolished!" 

"  I  know  you're  glad,  Dink,  old  man,"  said  Gimbel, 
shaking  his  hand  with  a  confidential  look.  "  We  all 
know  how  you  stood." 

"  It's  for  the  best,"  said  Stover  slowly ;  then  he  added : 
"  But  Gimbel,  the  fight's  over ;  the  big  thing  now  is  for 
the  class  to  get  together  —  be  careful  how  you  fellows 
take  it." 

Strangely  enough,  in  the  hour  of  defeat  the  instinct 
of  caste  came  back  to  him  —  he  was  again  the  sophomore 
society  man.  He  walked  over  to  his  rooms  with  a  curi 
ous  feeling  of  resentment  at  the  rejoicing  on  the  campus, 
where  the  news  was  being  shouted  from  window  to  win- 


STOVE  RAT    YALE 

dow.  Bob  Story,  leaving  the  fence,  came  over  and  took 
him  by  the  arm. 

"  Dink,  old  fellow,  I've  been  waiting  to  see  you." 

"  I've  just  heard  the  news,"  said  Stover,  when  they 
reached  his  room. 

"  That's  not  what  I  came  about,"  said  Story,  "  though 
it  fits  in  all  the  better.  Dink,  you  won't  mind  our  clear 
ing  up  a  little  past  history  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  would,  Bob,"  said  Stover  earnestly.  "  I 
know  you  never  saw  things  my  way." 

"  No,  I  didn't.  I  don't  say  you  were  wrong.  It  was 
a  question  of  different  temperaments.  You  did  a  braver 
thing  than  I  would  have  done — " 

"Oh,  I  say—" 

"  Yes,  I  mean  it.  Of  course  I  think  it  was  all  a 
rotten  mistake,  and  that  if  you'd  talked  the  matter  out 
as  you've  done  with  me,  Le  Baron  and  Reynolds  would 
have  seen  your  side." 

"  Perhaps  so." 

"  I  felt  that  Reynolds  had  acted  like  an  ass,  and  you 
very  naturally  had  lost  your  temper  —  the  result  being 
to  put  the  society  in  the  position  as  a  society  of  dictat 
ing  a  man's  friendships.  I  don't  believe  that  was  justi 
fied." 

"  Indirectly,  Bob,  it  worked  out  that  way." 

"  There  I  believe  you're  right,  Dink,"  said  Story 
openly.  "  I've  come  to  see  it,  and  I  admit  it  now.  I'm 
glad  the  system  has  gone.  I'm  for  the  best  here.  Now, 
Dink," —  he  hesitated  a  moment  — "  I  know  you've  been 
through  a  rotten  time ;  you've  felt  every  one  was  against 
you  unjustly.  I  know  all  that,  and  I  know  you've  got 
hold  of  yourself  again." 

"  That's  true." 

"  What  I  want  to  talk  over  with  you  now  is  this. 


STOVERATYALE  313 

Don't  let  what  has  passed  keep  you  away  from  any  one 
in  the  class." 

"  But,  Bob,"  said  Dink,  amazed,  a  how  can  I  help 
it?  The  soph  crowd  must  be  down  on  me  —  particu 
larly  now." 

"Rats,  they  all  know  pretty  well  the  circumstances, 
and  they  all  respect  your  nerve,  that's  honest.  We  like 
a  good  fighter  up  here.  Now,  Dink,  more  than  ever, 
we  need  a  real  leader  here  to  bring  us  together  again. 
Don't  leave  the  field  to  Bain  and  Hunter  —  they're  all 
right  in  their  way,  but  they  can't  see  things  in  a  big  way. 
Go  right  out  where  you've  always  gone,  twice  the  man 
you  used  to  be,  and  make  us  all  follow  you.  Don't  make 
apologies  for  what  you  did  —  go  out  as  though  you  were 
proud  of  it,  and  the  whole  bunch  will  rise  up  and  follow 
you." 

"  I    get    what    you    mean,"    said    Stover    solemnly. 
"  That's  horse  sense,  Bob  —  you've  always  got  that.     I 
wish  you'd  said  it  before." 
"  I  wish  I  had." 

Stover  looked  at  him  wondering,  but  not  daring  to 
ask  if  some  one  else  had  prompted  him  to  the  act. 

"  It's  strange  you  came  just  now,  Bob,"  he  said. 
"  You've  put  words  in  my  mouth  that  were  already  there. 
I've  just  been  talking  over  a  scheme  that  I  think's  a  big 
idea.  It's  Brockhurst's." 

He  detailed  the  plan  and  his  own  suggestion.  Story 
was  enthusiastic.  They  talked  at  length,  drawing  up  a 
list  of  possible  members,  with  the  enthusiasm  of  pioneers. 
"  I  say,  Dink,  there's  one  thing  more,"  said  Bob,  as  he 
started  to  go.  "  I've  been  thinking  a  lot  lately  about 
things  here,  and  what  I  want  for  the  next  two  years  — 
this  is  about  ended.  I'd  like  to  propose  something  to 
you." 


314  STOVER   AT    YALE 

"  Propose  it." 

"  What  do  you  say  to  you  and  me,  Joe  Hungerford,  and 
Tom  Regan,  all  rooming  together  another  year  ?  " 

"  Tom  ?  "  said  Stover,  surprised  a  moment.  "  The 
very  thing  if  he'd  do  it." 

c<  The  four  of  us  are  all  different  enough  to  make  just 
the  combination  we  need.  I'm  tired  of  bunking  alone. 
I  want  to  rub  up  against  some  one  else." 

:<  There's  nothing  I  could  have  thought  of  better,  Bob. 
You're  right,  we  four  ought  to  be  friends  —  real  friends 
—  and  stand  together.  Here's  my  hand  on  it." 

"  Bully.  I've  spoken  to  Joe,  and  he's  going  to  see 
Regan.  I  say,  Dink,  drop  in  soon." 

"  Sure  thing." 

"  I  mean  at  the  house." 

"  Oh,  yes."  A  little  constraint  came  to  him,  and  then 
a  flush  of  boyish  hope.  "  I'm  coming  round." 

"  Because  —  the  family  have  been  wondering." 

When  Bob  had  gone,  Stover  stood  a  long  while  gazing 
at  the  excited  groups  about  the  fence,  retailing  the  all- 
important  news. 

"  By  George,  I'll  do  it,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I'll  not  leave 
it  to  Tommy  Bain  or  Jim  Hunter.  It  may  be  a  fight, 
but  I'm  going  out  to  lead  because  I  can  do  it,  and  because 
I  believe  in  the  right  things."  Then  he  thought  over 
all  the  incidents  of  Bob's  visit,  and  he  fell  into  a  musing 
state  with  sudden  wild  jumps  of  the  imagination.  "  I 
wonder  —  did  he  come  of  his  own  accord  —  I  wonder  if 
she  knew ! " 

With  one  of  his  old-time  sudden  resolves,  he  went 
that  very  night  to  the  Storys'.  The  struggle  he  had  come 
through  in  victory  showed  in  a  new,  abrupt  self-confi 
dence.  He  felt  older  by  a  year  than  at  his  last  visit. 

Jean  Story  was  at  the  piano,  Jim  Hunter  on  the  wide 


STOVER    AT    YALE  315 

seat  beside  her,  turning  over  the  leaves  of  her  music. 
He  saw  it  from  the  hall  in  the  first  glance. 

The  Judge,  surprised,  came  to  him,  delighted. 

"  Well,  if  here  isn't  Dink  in  the  flesh.  How  are  you  ? 
Thought  you'd  eloped  somewhere.  Glad  to  see  you ;  tar 
nation  if  I'm  not  glad  to  shake  your  hand." 

Hungerford,  Bain,  Bob  Story,  and  Stone  were  pres 
ent;  a  little  difference  in  their  several  greetings. 

"  Well,  we're  holding  a  sort  of  wake  here,"  said  the 
Judge  cheerily.  "  Bain  seems  the  most  afflicted." 

"  It's  a  hard  moment,"  said  Stover  calmly,  knowing 
that  any  expression  of  opinion  from  him  would  be  re 
sisted  in  certain  quarters.  "  I  felt  quite  upset  myself 
to-day  when  I  heard  the  news,  despite  the  stand  I've 
taken." 

Hunter  looked  up  and  then  down,  but  said  nothing. 

"  It's  for  the  best,"  said  Hungerford,  not  wishing  him 
to  stand  alone.  "  Best  for  the  college  as  a  whole." 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen,"  said  Bain.  "  I  passed 
Gimbel  coming  over,  and  his  crowd.  It  wasn't  very 
pleasant." 

"  Well,  it's  over,"  said  Dink  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 
"  No  post-mortem !  The  great  thing  now  is  to  recognize 
what  exists.  The  class  to-day  is  shot  to  pieces.  We 
want  to  get  together  again.  One  half  our  time's  up,  and, 
wherever  the  fault,  we've  done  nothing  but  scrap  and  get 
apart." 

"  I've  been  telling  them  a  little  about  your  scheme, 
yours  and  Brockhurst's,"  said  Story. 

Stover  launched  into  an  enthusiastic  argument  in  its 
support.  Bain  and  Hunter  followed,  instinctive  in  their 
opposition,  each  perceiving  all  the  superiority  that  would 
derive  to  Stover  from  its  success. 

"  May  I  ask,"  said  Hunter  finally,  in  a  tone  of  icy 


316  STOVERATYALE 

criticism,  "  What  is.  the  difference  between  knocking 
down  the  sophomore  society  and  putting  up  this  organ 
ization  ?  " 

"  Very  glad  to  tell  you,  Jim,"  said  Stover,  assuming 
an  attitude  of  careful  good-will.  "  The  difference  is  that 
this  is  an  open  organization,  drawing  from  every  ele 
ment  of  the  class,  to  meet  for  the  sole  purpose  of  doing 
a  little  thinking  and  getting  to  know  other  crowds.  The 
sophomore  society  was  an  organization  drawn  from  one 
element  of  the  class,  consciously  or  unconsciously  for  the 
purpose  of  advancing  the  social  ambitions  of  its  mem 
bers  at  the  expense  of  others.  One  is  natural  and 
democratic,  and  the  other's  founded  on  selfishness  and 
exclusiveness." 

,-"• 

The  Judge,  fearing  the  results  of  a  controversy,  broke 
in,  switching  the  conversation  to  safer  channels. 

"  By  the  way,  Jim,"  said  Stover,  in  an  interlude, 
"  we're  counting  on  you  and  Tommy  Bain  to  go  into 
this  thing  and  make  it  a  success.  Is  that  right  ? " 

Despite  their  reluctance  at  so  prompt  an  espousal, 
Hunter  and  Bain  were  too  far-seeing  to  set  themselves 
in  opposition.  But  the  acceptance  was  given  without 
enthusiasm,  and,  not  relishing  this  sudden  renewal  of 
authority  in  one  whom  they  naturally  held  at  fault,  they 
soon  broke  up  the  party. 

Hungerford  and  Bob  went  into  the  billiard  room  for 
a  game,  and  presently  the  Judge  disappeared  upstairs 
to  run  over  some  routine  work. 

Stover  took  the  seat  vacated  by  Hunter,  with  perhaps 
a  little  malicious  pleasure,  saying: 

"Aren't  you  going  on  playing?" 

The  young  girl  hesitated  a  moment,  turning  the  leaves 
aimlessly. 


STOVER   AT    YALE  317 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  Do  you  want  me  to  very 
much?" 

"  I'd  much  rather  talk." 

She  closed  the  music,  turning  to  him  with  a  little  re 
proachful  seriousness. 

"  You've  been  away  a  long  while." 

"  Yes."  He  admitted  the  implied  accusation  with  a 
moment's  silence.  "  A  crazy  spell  of  mine.  Bob  was 
over  this  afternoon  and  we  had  a  long  talk."  He  said 
it  point  blank,  watching  her  face  for  some  indication  he 
hoped  to  find  there  of  her  complicity.  "  Did  he  tell 
you?" 

"  He  was  speaking  of  it  at  the  dinner  table,"  she  said 
quietly. 

"  Did  you  blame  me,"  he  said  impulsively,  "  for  what 
I  did  about  getting  out  of  my  society  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Bob  did,  at  least  for  a  while,"  he  said,  looking 
eagerly  into  her  eyes. 

"  I  did  not  agree  with  him  there." 

She  rose. 

"  If  we  are  going  to  talk,  let's  find  more  comfortable 
chairs." 

He  followed  her,  a  little  irritated  at  the  sudden  closing 
on  this  delightful  prospect.  They  took  chairs  by  the 
window.  Through  the  vista  of  open  rooms  could  be 
seen  the  glare  of  the  brilliant  lights,  and  the  figures  of 
the  twro  young  fellows  moving  at  their  game. 

Suddenly,  with  a  return  of  the  old-time  feeling  of 
camaraderie  between  them,  he  burst  out: 

"  You  know  I've  got  into  such  a  serious  point  of 
view !  I  don't  quite  know  how  it  happened.  Sometimes 
it  seems  to  me  I'm  missing  all  the  fun  of  college  life." 


318  STOVERATYALE 

He  made  a  gesture  toward  the  billiard  room.  "  Even 
fellows  like  McNab,  good  for  nothing,  jovial  little 
loafers,  according  to  Yale  standards,  do  seem  to  be 
getting  something  wonderful  out  of  these  years.  I  don't. 
It's  been  all  work  or  fighting." 

"  That's  because  they  are  going  different  ways  in  life 
than  you  are,"  she  said  quickly.  "  Tell  me  more  about 
this  new  organization.  It  seems  a  big  idea.  Whom  will 
you  take  in  ? "  She  added  suddenly :  "  Take  charge 
yourself,  do  it  all  yourself.  It's  just  what  you  should 
do/' 

He  was  too  much  interested  in  the  expounding  of  the 
idea  to  notice  the  solicitude  she  showed  him.  After  a 
while  the  conversation  drifted  to  other  topics.  He  spoke 
of  the  summer. 

"Joe  wants  me  to  go  on  a  cruise,  and  Bob  wants  me 
to  run  up  to  your  camp  for  a  visit,  but  I've  about  de 
cided  to  do  neither." 

She  looked  up. 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  am  going  with  Regan  for  the  summer  —  slumming 
it,  I  suppose  some  would  call  it;  Tom  calls  it  getting 
real  education.  We're  going  down  to  work  among  men 
who  work,  to  know  something  of  what  they  think  and 
want  —  and  what  they  think  of  us.  It  appeals  to  me 
tremendously.  I  want  to  have  an  all-around  point  of 
view.  There  are  so  many  opportunities  coming  now, 
and  I  want  to  grasp  them  all  —  learn  all  I  can.  What 
do  you  think  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  splendid  idea,  just  the  thing  for  you  now.  It 
will  broaden  you,"  she  said,  with  a  determined  bob  of 
her  head.  "  Why  doesn't  Bob  ever  bring  Regan  around  ? 
He  sounds  interesting." 

"  Don't    know  —  he    sticks    by    himself.     You    can't 


STOVERATYALE  319 

move  him.  Bob's  told  you  about  the  four  of  us  rooming 
together?" 

"  Yes." 

"I  wonder—" 

"  What  ?  "  she  asked  as  he  stopped. 

"  Did  you  suggest  to  Bob  what  he  said  to  me  this 
afternoon  ?  "  he  said  point  blank. 

She  looked  at  him  troubled  and  undecided,  and  he 
suddenly  guessed  the  reason. 

"  Oh,  won't  you  trust  me  enough  to  tell  me,"  he  said 
boyishly,  "if  you  did?" 

She  looked  into  his  eyes  a  moment  longer. 

"  He  was  afraid  you  wouldn't  like  it,"  she  said  sim 
ply.  "  Yes,  I  told  him  to  go." 

A  dozen  things  rushed  to  his  lips,  and  he  said  nothing. 
Perhaps  she  liked  his  silence  better  than  anything  he 
could  have  said,  for  she  added: 

"  You  will  do  the  big  things  now,  won't  you  ?  You 
see,  I  want  to  see  you  at  your  biggest." 

When  he  went  home  that  night,  he  seemed  to  walk 
on  air.  He  had  taken  no  advantage  of  her  friendship, 
tempted  almost  beyond  his  powers  as  he  had  been  by  the 
kindness  in  her  voice  and  her  direct  appeal.  He  had  to 
tell  some  one,  not  of  the  interest  he  felt  she  had  shown 
him,  but  of  his  own  complete  adoration  and  supreme 
consecration.  So  he  hauled  Hungerford  up  to  his  room, 
who  received  the  information  as  to  Stover's  state  of  mind 
with  gratifying  surprise,  as  though  it  were  the  most  in 
credible,  mystifying,  and  incomprehensible  bit  of  news. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

WHEN  Stover  returned  to  college  as  a  junior,  Jie 
showed^  the  results  of  his  summer  with  Regan. 
He  had  gone  into  construction  gangs,  and  learned  to  obey 
and  to  command.  He  had  had  a  glimpse  of  what  the 
struggle  for  existence  meant  in  the  stimng^mas^es ;  and 
he  had  known  the  keenness  of  a  little  joy  and  the  reality 
of  sorrow  to  those  for  whom  everything  in  life  was  real. 

He  had  long  ago  surrendered  the  idea  of  entering 
Skull  and  Bones  over  the  enmity  of  Reynolds  and  Le 
Baron,  and  this  relinquishing  somehow  robbed  him  of  all 
the  awe  that  he  had  once  felt.  He  had  returned  a  man, 
tempered  by  knowledge  of  the  world,  distinguishing  be 
tween  the  incidental  in  college  life  and  the  vital  oppor 
tunity  within  his  grasp. 

The  new  debating  club,  launched  in  the  previous 
spring,  had  been  an  instajnit  success,  and  its  composition, 
carefully  representative,  had  become  the  nucleus  of  a 
new  comradeship  in  the  class.  With  the  one  idea  of 
proving  his  fitness  to  lead  in  this  new  harmonizing  de 
velopment,  Stover  made  his  room  a  true  meeting-place  of 
the  class,  and,  loyally  aided  by  Hungerford  and  Story, 
sought  to  restore  all  the  old-time  zest  and  good-will  to 
the  gatherings  about  the  sophomore  fence.  His  efforts 
were  met  by  a  latent  opposition  from  Hunter  and  Bain, 
on  one  side,  who  never  outgrew  their  wounded  resent 
ment,  and  from  Gimbel  on  the  other,  who,  though  en 
thusiastically  seconding  him  in  the  open,  felt  secretly 
that  he  was  being  supplanted. 

320 


STOVERATYALE  321 

But,  as  Story  had  foreseen,  Stover  had  the  magnetism 
and  the  energy  to  carry  through  what  no  other  leader 
would  have  accomplished.  Once  resolved  on  the  accom 
plishment,  upheld  by  a  strong  sentimental  devotion, 
Stover  went  at  his  task  with  a  blunt  directness  that  dis 
dains  all  objections. 

Each  Saturday  night  was  given  over  to  a  rally  of  the 
class  en  masse  at  the  Tontine.  Certain  groups  held  off 
at  first,  but  soon  came  into  the  fold  when  Stover,  who 
was  no  respecter  of  persons,  would  find  occasion  to  say 
publicly : 

"  Hello  there,  what  happened  to  you  last  night  ?  Get 
out  of  that  silk-lined  atmosphere  of  yours!  Wake  up! 
You're  not  too  good  for  us,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  why  weren't  you  there  ?  It's  no  orgy  —  you 
can  get  lemonade  or  milk  if  you  want.  There  are  bad 
men  present,  but  we  keep  'em  from  biting." 

"  I  say,  forget  your  poker  game  for  one  night.  We 
all  know  you're  dead  game  sports.  That's  why  we  want 
you  —  to  give  us  an  atmosphere  of  real  life." 

The  remarks  were  made  half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest, 
but  they  seldom  failed  of  their  object.  At  the  Saturday 
night  rallies  it  was  the  same.  Stover  was  everywhere, 
saying  with  his  good-humored,  impudent  smile  what  no 
one  else  dared  to  say,  sometimes  startling  them  with  his 
boldness : 

"  Here  now,  fellows,  no  grouping  around  here.  We 
want  to  see  a  sport  and  a  gospel  shark  sitting  arm  in  arm. 
Come  on,  Schley,  your  social  position's  all  right — • 
there's  only  one  crowd  here  to-night.  No  one  here  is 
going  to  boost  you  into  a  senior  society.  Percolate,  fel 
lows,  percolate.  We've  scrapped  like  Sam  Hill,  now 
we're  tired  of  it.  No  more  biting,  scratching,  or  gou 
ging.  Don't  forget  this  is  a  love  feast,  and  they're  going 


STOVER    AT    YALE 

to  be  lovelier.  Now  let's  try  over  that  song  for  the 
Princeton  game.  Bob  Story  perpetrated  it  —  pretty 
rotten,  I  think,  but  let's  hit  it  up  all  the  same." 

The  rallies  jumped  into  popularity.  The  class  gasped, 
then  laughed  at  Stover's  abrupt  reference  to  the  late 
unpleasantness,  and  with  the  laugh  all  constraint  went. 
The  class  found  itself,  as  a  regiment  returns  to  its  pride 
again.  It  went  to  the  games  in  a  body,  it  healed  its  dif 
ferences,  and  packed  the  long  room  at  the  Tontine  each 
Saturday  night,  shouting  out  the  chorus  which  Buck 
Waters,  McNab,  Stone,  and  the  talent  led. 

Many,  undoubtedly,  marvelling  at  the  ease  with  which 
Stover  had  inspired  the  gathering,  admired  him  for  what 
they  believed  was  a  clever  bid  for  society  honors.  But 
the  truth  was  that  he  succeeded  because  he  had  no  under 
lying  motive,  because  he  had  achieved  in  himself  absolute 
independence  and  fearlessness  of  any  outer  criticism,  and 
his  strength  with  the  crowd  was  just  the  consciousness  of 
his  own  liberty. 

By  the _fall_of_ jiuiioj^earj.. ji£_was  ,  the .  undisputed 
leader  jxlthejiass,  a  force  that  had  brought  to  it  a  com 
munity  of  interest  and  friendly  understanding.  Un 
known  to  him,  his  classmates  began  to  regard  him, 
despite  his  old  defiance,  as  one  whom  a  senior  society 
could  not  overlook.  Stover  had  no  such  feeling.  He 
believed  that  the  hatred  in  what  remained  of  the  soph 
omore  society  organization  was,  and  would  continue,  un 
relenting,  and  this  conviction  had  determined  him  in  a 
course  of  action  to  which  he  was  impelled  by  other 
reasons. 

He  went  through  the  football  season  as  he  had  gone 
through  the  previous  season,  with  a  record  for  distin 
guished  brilliancy,  acclaimed  by  all  as  the  best  end  in 
years,  the  probable  captain  of  the  next  year.  He  wanted 


STOVER   AT    YALE 

the  position,  as  he  had  desired  it  on  his  first  arrival  at 
Yale,  and  yet  he  surrendered  it.  Hunter  had  developed 
into  a  tackle  and  made  the  team.  In  the  class  below 
were  two  men  of  the  defunct  sophomore  societies. 
Stover  had  vividly  before  him  the  record  of  Dana,  his 
captain  of  freshman  year,  and  the  memory  of  the  ordeal 
after  the  game,  when  he  had  stood  up  and  acknowledged 
his  lack  of  leadership. 

That  this  still  resentful  society  element  in  the  eleven 
would  follow  him  with  distaste  and  reluctance,  despite 
all  traditional  loyality,  he  knew  too  well.  Moreover, 
sure  that  he  was  destined  to  be  passed  over  on  Tap  Day, 
he  felt  perhaps  too  keenly  the  handicap  of  such  a  rejec 
tion.  Then,  at  the  bottom,  reluctantly,  he  knew  in  his 
heart  that  Regan  was  the  born  leader  of  men,  and  what 
once  he  had  rebelled  against  he  finally  acknowledged. 

So  when  at  the  end  of  a  victorious  season  the  members 
of  the  eleven  gathered  for  the  election  of  the  next  year's 
captain,  he  stood  up  immediately  and  stated  his  views. 
It  was  a  difficult  announcement  to  make,  both  on  the 
score  of  seeming  sentimentality,  and  from  the  danger  of 
seeming  to  refuse  what  might  not  be  offered  him. 

But  during  the  tests  of  the  last  year  the  self -conscious 
ness  which  would  have  prevented  Brockhurst's  express 
ing  himself  had  completely  gone.  Determined  on  one 
course  of  action,  to  be  his  own  master,  to  do  what  he 
wanted  to  do,  and  to  say  what  he  wanted  to  say,  in  abso 
lute  fearlessness,  he  spoke  with  a  frankness  that  amazed 
his  comrades,  still  under  the  fetish  of  upper-class  su 
premacy. 

"  Before  we  begin,"  he  said,  "  I've  a  few  words  I  want 
to  say.  I  suppose  I  am  a  candidate  here.  I  don't  say 
I  shouldn't  be  crazy  to  have  the  captaincy.  I  would  — 
any  one  would.  What  I  say  is  that  I  have  thought  it 


STOVER   AT   [5TALE 

over  and  I  withdraw  my  name.  Even  if  you  hadn't  in 
Tom  Regan  here  the  best  type  of  leader  you  could  get, 
it  would  be  very  unfortunate  for  our  chances  next  year 
if  I  were  chosen.  I'm  quite  aware  that  in  a  certain 
element  of  the  team,  due  to  the  open  stand  I  felt  forced 
to  take  in  the  question  of  the  sophomore  society,  there 
is  a  great  deal  of  resentment  against  me.  I  can  under 
stand  that;  it  is  natural.  But  there  should  be  no  such 
division  in  a  Yale  team.  We've  got  a  tough  fight  next 
year,  and  we  need  a  captain  about  whom  are  no  enmities, 
who'll  command  every  bit  of  the  loyalty  of  the  team  — " 
he  paused  a  moment  — "  and  every  bit  of  help  he  can 
get  from  the  college.  I  move  that  Tom  Regan  be 
unanimously  elected  captain." 

There  was  quite  an  outcry  at  the  end  of  his  declara 
tion,  especially  from  Regan,  who  was  utterly  surprised. 
But  Stover  held  firm,  and  perceived,  not  without  a  little 
secret  resentment,  that  the  outcome  came  with  relief  not 
only  to  the  team  but  to  the  coaches. 

When  they  returned,  and  Regan  was  still  protesting, 
Stover  said  frankly: 

"  Look  here,  Tom,  we  don't  split  hairs  with  one  an 
other.  If  I  had  thought  it  was  right  for  me  to  stand 
for  it  I  would  have.  I  wanted  it  —  like  hell.  You  re 
member  Dana?  I  do.  It's  an  awful  thing  to  lead  a 
team  into  defeat,  and  say  I  was  responsible.  I  don't 
care  to  do  it.  Besides,  you  are  the  better  man  —  and 
I'm  of  such  a  low,  skulking  nature  I  hate  to  admit  it. 
So  shut  up  and  buy  me  a  rabbit  at  Mory's.  I'm  hungry 
as  a  pirate." 

He  had  said  nothing  of  his  determination  to  any  one. 
He  had  been  tempted  to  talk  it  over  with  Jean  Story, 
but  he  had  refrained,  feeling  instinctively  that  in  her 
ambition  for  him,  and  in  her  inability  to  judge  the  depth 


STOVER    AT    YALE  325 

of  certain  antagonisms  towards  him,  she  would  oppose 
his  determination. 

The  four  friends  had  gone  to  Lyceum  together  — 
Swazey  and  Pike  were  in  the  same  building.  There 
was  a  certain  flavor  of  the  simplicity  and  ruggedness  of 
old  Yale  in  the  building  that  gave  to  the  meetings  in  their 
rooms  a  character  of  old-time  spontaneity. 

By  the  opening  of  the  winter  term,  Stover,  the  en 
thusiast,  had  begun  to  see  the  weakness  of  movements 
that  must  depend  on  organization.  The  dgj^ating^club, 
which  had  started  with  a  zest,  soon  showed  its .....limita- 
tions.  Once  the  edge  of  novelty  had  worn  off,  there 
were  too  many  diverting  interests  to  throng  in  and  de 
plete  the  ranks. 

When,  following  Regan's  suggestion,  they  had  at 
tempted  a  new  division  on  the  lines  of  the  pojitical 
parties,  the  result  was  decidedly  disappointing.  There 
was  no  natural  interest  to  draw  upon,  and  the  political 
discussions,  instead  of  fanning  the  club  into  a  storm  of 
partizanship,  lapsed  into  the  hands  of  perfunctory  de 
baters. 

Regan  himself  took  his  disillusionment  much  to  heart. 
They  discussed  the  reasons  of  the  failure  one  stormy 
afternoon  at  one  of  their  informal  discussions,  to  which 
they  had  returned  with  longing. 

"  What  the  devil  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  the  big  fellow 
savagely.  "  WThy,  where  I  come  from,  the  people  I  see, 
every  mother's  son  of  them,  feed  on  politics,  talk  noth 
ing  else  —  they  love  it!  And  here  if  you  ask  a  man  if 
he's  a  Republican  or  a  Democrat,  he  writes  home  and 
asks  his  father.  A  condition  like  this  doesn't  exist  any 
where  else  on  the  face  of  the  globe.  And  this  is  America. 
Why?" 


326  STOVE  RAT    YALE 

When  he  had  propounded  the  question,  there  was  a 
busy,  unresponsive  puffing  of  pipes,  and  then  Pike 
added : 

"  That's  what  hits  me,  too.  Just  look  at  the  questions 
that  are  coming  up ;  popular  election  of  senators,  income 
tax,  direct  primaries;  it's  like  building  over  the  govern 
ment  again,  and  no  one  here  cares  or  knows  what's  doing. 
I  say,  why  ?  " 

"  There  may  be  fifty-two  reasons  for  it,"  said  Brock- 
hurst,  in  his  staccato,  biting  way.  "  One  is,  our  colleges 
are  all  turning  into  social  clearing  houses,  and  every 
one  is  too  absorbed  in  that  engrossing  process  to  know 
what  happens  outside ;  second  is  the  fact  that  our  univer 
sities  are  admirably  organized  instruments  for  the  pre 
vention  of  learning !  " 

"  Good  old  Brocky,"  said  Swazey  with  a  chuckle. 
"  Just  what  I  like ;  stormy  outside,  warm  inside,  and 
Brocky  at  the  bat.  Serve  'em  up." 

Brockhurst,  who  was  used  to  this  reception  of  his 
pointed  generalizations,  paid  no  heed.  He,  too,  had 
grown  in  mental  stature  and  in  control.  A  certain 
diffidence  was  over  him,  and  always  would  be;  but  when 
a  subject  came  up  that  interested  him,  he  forgot  himself, 
and  rushed  into  the  argument  with  a  zeal  that  never 
failed  to  arouse  his  listeners. 

Brockhurst  turned  on  Swazey  with  the  license  that  was 
always  permissible. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  know  ?  You've  been  here  going 
on  three  years.  You  are  supposed  to  be  more  than  half 
educated.  And  you're  not  a  fair  example  either,  because 
you  really  are  seeking  to  know  something." 

"  Well,  go  on,"  said  Swazey,  thoroughly  aroused. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  the  Barbizon  school,  and 
the  logical  reasons  for  the  revolt  of  the  impressionists  ?  " 


STOVER   AT   YALE  32T 

Instantly  there  was  an  outcry: 

"  Not  fair." 

"  Oh,  I  say." 

"  That's  no  test." 

"  Finishing  your  third  year,  gentlemen,"  said  Brock- 
hurst  triumphantly,  "  age  over  twenty ;  the  art  of  paint 
ing  is  of  course  known  to  the  aborigines  only  in  its 
cruder  forms.  Well,  does  any  one  know  at  least  who 
Manet  is,  or  what  he's  painted  ?  " 

There  was  an  accusing  silence. 

"Of  course  you've  an  idea  of  the  Barbizon  school  — 
one  or  two  of  you.  You  remember  something  about  a 
Man  with  a  Hoe  or  the  Angelus  —  that's  Sunday  supple 
ment  education.  Now  let  me  try  you.  Please  raise 
hands,  little  boys,  when  you  know  the  answer  to  these 
questions,  but  don't  bluff  teacher.  I'm  not  contending- 
you  should  have  a  detailed  knowledge  of  the  world  in 
your  eager,  studious  minds.  I  am  saying  that  you. 
haven't  the  slightest  general  information.  I'll  make  m^ 
questions  fair. 

"  First,  music :  I  won't  ask  you  the  tendencies  arrcf 
theories  of  the  modern  schools  —  you  won't  know  that 
such  a  thing  as  a  theory  in  music  exists.  You  know  the 
opera  of  Carmen  —  good  old  Toreadore  song.  Do  you 
know  the  name  of  the  composer?  One  hand  —  Bob- 
Story.  Do  you  know  the  history  of  its  reception?  Do> 
you  know  the  sources  of  it?  Do  you  know  what  Bach's 
influence  was  in  the  development  of  music?  Did  you 
ever  hear  of  Leoncavallo,  Verdi,  or  that  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  a  Russian  composer  ?  Absolute  silence.  You 
have  a  hazy  knowledge  of  Wagner,  and  you  know  that 
Chopin  wrote  a  funeral  march.  That  is  your  foothold 
in  music ;  there  you  balance,  surrounded  by  howling 
waters  of  ignorance. 


STOVER    AT    YALE 

"  Take  up  architecture.  Do  you  know  who  built  the 
Vatican  ?  Do  you  know  the  great  buildings  of  the  world 
—  or  a  single  thing  about  Greek,  Roman  and  Renaissance 
architecture?  Do  you  know  what  the  modern  French 
movement  is  based  upon?  Nothing. 

"  Take  up  religion.  Do  you  know  anything  about 
Confucius,  Shintoism,  or  Swedenborg,  beyond  the  names  ? 
Of  course  you  would  not  know  that  under  Louis  XVI 
a  determined  movement  was  made  to  reunite  the  Cath 
olic  and  Protestant  branches,  which  almost  succeeded. 
That's  unfair,  because  of  course  it  is  the  forerunner  of 
the  great  religious  movement  to-day.  Do  you  know  the 
liistory  of  the  external  symbols  of  the  Christian  religion, 
and  what  is  historically  new?  Darkness  denser  and 
denser. 

"  Take  literature.  You  have  excavated  a  certain 
.amount  of  Shakespeare,  and  grubbed  among  Elizabeth 
ans,  and  cursed  Spenser.  Who  has  read  Taine's  His 
tory  of  English  Literature,  or  known  in  fact  who  Taine 
is?  Only  Bob  Story.  And  yet  there  is  the  greatest 
took  on  the  whole  subject;  you  could  abolish  the  English 
department  and  substitute  it.  Beside  Story,  who  else 
has  had  even  a  fair  reading  knowledge  of  any  other  lit 
erature  —  Russian,  Norwegian,  German,  French,  Italian  ? 
Who  knows  enough  about  any  one  of  these  writers  to 
look  wise  and  nod;  Renan,  Turgeniev,  Daudet,  Bjornson, 
Hauptman,  Suderman,  Strindberg?  Do  you  know  any 
thing  about  Goethe  as  a  critic,  or  the  influence  of  Poe 
upon  French  literature?  What  do  you  know?  I'll  tell 
you.  You  know  Les  Miserables  and  The  Three  Mus 
keteers  in  French  literature.  You  know  Goethe  wrote 
Faust.  You're  beginning  to  know  Ibsen  as  a  name,  and 
one  may  have  read  Tolstoi,  and  all  know  that  he's  a  very 
old  man  with  a  long  white  beard,  who  lives  among  his 


STOVERATYALE  329 

peasants,  has  some  queer  ideas,  and  has  started  to  die 
three  or  four  times.  The  papers  have  told  you  that. 

"  Take  another  field,  of  simple  curiosity  on  what  i$ 
doing  in  a  world  in  which  by  opportunity  you  are  sup 
posed  to  be  of  the  leading  class.  What  do  you  know 
about  the  strength  and  spread  of  socialism  in  Germany, 
France  and  England?  In  the  first  place  no  one  of  you 
here  probably  has  any  idea  of  what  socialism  is ;  you've 
been  told  it's  anarchy,  and,  as  that  only  means  dynamite 
to  you,  you  are  against  socialism,  and  will  never  take  the 
trouble  to  investigate  it.  What  do  you  know  about  the 
new  political  experiments  in  New  Zealand?  —  nothing. 
What  do  you  know  about  the  labor  pension  system  in 
Germany,  or  the  separation  of  the  church  and  state  in 
France?  —  all  subjects  dealing  with  the  vital  develop 
ment  of  the  race  of  bipeds  on  this  earth  of  which  you 
happen  to  be  members. 

"  Now  here  is  a  catch  question  —  all  candidates  for 
the  dunce-cap  will  take  a  guess.  The  Botticelli  story  is 
such  a  chestnut  now  that  you  all  know  that  it  isn't  a 
cheese  or  a  wine  —  credit  that  to  ridicule.  I'm  going 
to  give  you  a  few  names  from  all  the  professions,  and 
let's  see  who  can  tag  them.  What  was  Spinoza,  Holman 
Hunt,  Dostoiefski,  Ambrose  Thomas,  Savonarola  (if 
you've  read  the  novel  you'd  know  that),  Bastien  Le  Page, 
Zorn,  Bizet,  Bossuet!  Unfair?  —  not  at  all.  These 
things  are  just  as  necessary  to  know  to  a  man  of  educa 
tion  and  culture  as  it  is  to  a  man  of  good  manners  to 
realize  that  peas  are  not  introduced  into  the  mouth  by 
being  balanced  on  a  knife." 

"  Help !  "  cried  Hungerford,  as  Brockhurst  went  rush 
ing  on.  "  Great  Scott,  what  do  we  know  ?  " 

"  You  know  absolutely  nothing,"  said  Brockhurst 
savagely.  "  Here  you  are ;  look  at  yourselves  —  four 


330  STOVER    AT    YALE 

years  when  you  ought  to  learn  something,  some  inform 
ing  knowledge  of  all  that  has  developed  during  the  four 
thousand  years  the  human  race  has  fought  its  way  to 
ward  the  light,  four  years  to  be  filled  with  the  marvel 
and  splendor  of  it  all,  and  you  don't  know  a  thing. 

"  You  don't  know  the  big  men  in  music ;  you  don't 
know  the  pioneers  and  the  leaders  in  any  art ;  you  don't 
know  the  great  literatures  of  the  world,  and  what  they 
represent;  you  don't  know  how  other  races  are  working 
out  their  social  destinies;  you've  never  even  stopped  to 
examine  yourselves,  to  analyze  your  own  society,  to  see 
the  difference  between  a  civilization  founded  on  the  unit 
of  the  individual,  and  a  civilization,  like  the  Latin,  on 
the  indestructible  advance  of  the  family.  You  have  no 
general  knowledge,  no  intellectual  interests,  you  haven't 
even  opinions,  and  at  the  end  of  four  years  of  education 
you  will  march  up  and  be  handed  a  degree  —  Bachelor  of 
Arts!  Magnificent!  And  we  Americans  have  a  sense 
of  humor!  Do  you  wonder  why  I  repeat  that  our  col 
leges  are  splendidly  organized  institutions  for  the  pre 
vention  of  learning?  No,  sir,  we  are  business  colleges, 
and  the  business  of  our  machines  is  to  stamp  out  so  many 
business  men  a  year,  running  at  full  speed  and  in  com 
petition  with  the  latest  devices  in  Cambridge  and  Prince 
ton!" 

"  Brocky,  you  are  terrific,"  said  Swazey  in  admira 
tion.  There  was  too  much  truth  in  the  attack,  violent  as 
it  was,  not  to  have  called  forth  serious  attention. 

"  I  feel  a  good  deal  the  way  you  do,"  said  Bob  Story, 
and  Stover  nodded,  "  only  it  seems  to  me,  Brocky,  a  good 
deal  of  what  you're  arguing  for  must  come  from  outside 
—  in  just  such  informal  talks  as  this." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Brockhurst.  "  If  the  stimulus  in 
the  college  life  itself  were  toward  education  all  our  meet- 


STOVERATYALE  331 

ings  would  be  educational.  It's  true  abroad,  it  isn't  here. 
You  know  my  views.  You  think  I'm  extreme.  I'm 
getting  an  education  because  I  didn't  accept  any  such 
flap-doodle  as,  '  What  am  I  going  to  do  for  Yale  ? '  but 
instead  asked,  '  What  has  Yale  got  to  offer  me  ? '  I'm 
getting  it,  too." 

Stover  suddenly  remembered  the  conversation  they  had 
together  the  year  before,  and  looking  now  at  Brockhurst, 
revealed  in  a  new  strength,  he  began  to  understand  what 
had  then  so  repelled  him. 

"  The  great  fault,"  continued  Brockhurst,  "  lies,  how 
ever,  with  the  colleges.  The  whole  theory  is  wrong, 
archaic  and  ridiculous  —  the  theory  of  education  by 
schedule.  All^ducatk)n...can~-dajs_.to ..instil  the  love  of 
knowledge.  You  get  that,  you  catch  the  fire  of  it  —  you 
educate  yourself.  All  education  does  to-day  is  to  develop 
the  memory  at  the  expense  of  the  imagination.  It  says : 
1  Here  are  so  many  pounds  of  Greek,  Latin,  mathematics, 
history,  literature.  In  four  years  our  problem  is  to  pass 
them  through  the  heads  of  these  hundreds  of  young 
barbarians  so  that  they  will  come  out  with  a  lip  knowl- 
edge.' ' 

"  But  come,  we  do  learn  something,"  said  Hungerford. 

"  No,  you  don't,  Joe,"  said  Brockhurst.  "  You've 
translated  the  Iliad  —  you've  never  known  it.  You've 
recited  in  Horace  —  you  have  no  love  for  him.. 
You've  excavated  the  plays  of  Shakespeare,  a  couple  of" 
acts  at  a  time;  you  don't  know  what  Hamlet  means  or 
Lear,  the  beauty  of  it  all  has  escaped  you.  You've 
recited  in  Logic  and  Philosophy,  but  you  don't  under 
stand  what  you're  repeating.  You're  only  repeating  all 
the  time.  Your  memory  is  trained  to  hold  a  little  knowl 
edge  a  little  time  —  that's  all.  You  don't  enjoy  it,  you're 
rather  apologetic  —  or  others  are." 


332  STOVERATYALE 

"  Well,  what  other  system  is  there  ?  "  said  Regan. 

"  There  is  ^tj^e_j^e^eptorial..^sjte^  England,"  said 
Brockhurst,  "  where  a  small  group  of  men  are  in  per 
sonal  contact  with  the  instructor.  In  French  universi 
ties,  education  is  a  serious  thing  because  failure  to  pass 
an  examination  for  a  profession  means  two  extra  years 
of  army  service.  Men  don't  risk  over  there,  or  divide 
up  their  time  heeling  the  News  or  making  a  team.  In 
Germany  a  man  is  given  a  certain  number  of  years  to 
get  a  degree,  and  I  believe  has  to  do  a  certain  amount 
of  original  work. 

"  But  of  course  the  main  trouble  here  is,  and  there  is 
no  blinking  the  fact,  that  the  colleges  have  surrendered 
unconsciously  a  great  deal  of  their  power  to  the  growing 
influence  of  the  social  organization.  In^a^period  when 
we  have  no  society  in  America,  families.,  are  sending  their 

.sons  to  colleges  to.,. place them-selv^-s^sQcially.  Some  of 

them  carry  it  to  an  extreme,  even  directly  avow  their 
ihope  that  they  will  make  certain  clubs  at  Princeton  or 
Harvard,  or  a  senior  society  here.  It  probably  is  very 
hard  to  control,  but  it's  going  to  turn  our  colleges  more 
.and  more,  as  I  say,  into  social  clearing  houses.  At  pres 
ent  here  at  Yale  we  keep  down  the  question  of  wealth 
pretty  well;  fellows  like  Joe  Hungerford  here  come  in 
and  live  on  our  basis.  That's  the  best  feature  about 
Yale  to-day  —  how  it  will  be  in  the  future  I  don't  know, 
for  it  depends  on  the  wisdom  of  the  parents." 

"  Social  clearing  house  is  well  coined,"  said  Hunger- 
ford.  "  I  think  it's  truer  though  of  Harvard." 

"  That's  perhaps  because  you  see  the  mote  in  your 
neighbors'  eyes,"  said  Brocky  rising.  "  Well,  discussion 
isn't  going  to  change  it.  Who's  always  talking  about 
school  for  character  —  Pike  or  Brown?  We  might  as 
well  stand  for  that  —  but  it  would  not  be  very  wise  to 


STOVER    AT    YALE  333, 

announce   it  to  the  American   nation,   would   it?  —  we"' 
might  be  dubbed  a  reformatory.     Fathers,  send  your  sons 
to  college  —  reform  their  characters,  straighten  out  the 
crooks.     At  the  end  give  'em  a  degree  of  —  of,  say  — 
G.  B." 

"What's  that,  Brocky?"  said  Swazey,  grinning  with 
the  rest. 

"  Good  Boy,"  said  Brockhurst,  who  departed,  as  he 
liked,  on  the  echoes  of  the  laugh  which  he  had  inspired. 

"  Whew !  "  said  Hungerf ord,  with  a  comical  rubbing 
of  his  head.  "  What  struck  me  ?  " 

"  And  I  expect  to  make  Phi  Beta  Kappa,"  said  Swazey,  ' 
with  an  apologetic  laugh. 

"  What  a  dreadfully  disconcerting  person,"  said  Bob 
Story. 

"  By  George,  it  takes  the  conceit  out  of  you,"  said 
Stover  ruthfully.  "  Shall  we  all  start  in  and  learn  some 
thing?  What's  the  answer?" 

At  this  moment  a  familiar  slogan  was  heard  below, 
increasing  in  riotous,  pagan  violence  with  the  approach 
of  boisterous  feet. 

"  Oh,  father  and  mother 
Pay  all  the  bills, 
And  we  have  all  the  fun. 
Hooray! 

That's  the  way  we  do  in  college  life  — 
In  college  life." 

The  room  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 
"  There's  one  answer,"  said  Regan  rising. 
The  door  slammed  open,  and  McNab  and  Buck  Waters 
reeled  in  arm  in  arm. 

"  I  say,   fellows,  we've  cornered  the  sleigh  market/' 


334  STOVERATYALE 

said  Dopey  uproariously.  "  We're  all  going  to  beat  it  to 
the  Cheshire  Inn,  a  bottle  of  champagne  to  the  first  to 
arrive.  Are  you  on  ?  " 

Half  an  hour  later,  Stover  at  the  reins  was  whirling 
madly  along  the  crusty  roads,  in  imminent  danger  of 
collision  with  three  other  rollicking  parties,  who  packed 
the  sleighs  and  cheered  on  the  galloping  horses,  singing 
joyfully  the  battle  hymn  of  the  pagans: 

"  Oh,  father  and  mother 
Pay  all  the  bills, 
And  we  have  all  the  fun. 
Hooray! 

That's  the  way  we  do 
In  college  life" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

ONCE  Stover  had  reconciled  himself  to  the  loss  of 
a  senior  society  election,  he  found  ample  com 
pensation  in  the  absolute  liberty  of  action  that  came  to 
him.  It  was  not  that  he  condemned  this  parent  system ; 
he  believed  in  it  as  an  honest  attempt  to  reward  the  best 
in  the  college  life,  a  sort  of  academic  legion  of  honor, 
formed  not  on  social  cleavage,  but  given  as  a  reward  of 
merit.  In  his  own  case,  he  believed  his  own  personal 
offending  in  the  matter  of  Le  Baron  and  Reynolds  had 
been  so  extreme  that  nothing  could  counteract  it. 

So  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  free  and  untrammelled 
delights  of  living  his  own  life.  His  fierce  stand  for  abso 
lute  democracy  made  of  his  rooms  the  ante-room  of  the 
class,  through  which  all  crowds  seemed  to  pass,  men  of 
his  own  kind,  socially  calculating,  glad  to  be  known  as 
the  friends  of  Regan,  Hungerford  and  Story,  all  rated 
sure  men,  and  Stover,  about  whom  they  began  to  wonder 
more  and  more,  as  a  unique  and  rebellious  personality, 
which,  contrary  to  precedent,  had  come  to  bear  down 
all  opposition.  Gimbel  and  Hicks,  elected  managers  for 
the  coming  year,  came  often,  willing  to  conciliate  the 
element  they  had  fought,  in  the  hopes  of  a  favorable 
outcome  on  Tap  Day.  Men  who  worked  their  way 
dropped  in  often  on  Regan;  Ricketts,  with  his  drawling 
Yankee  astuteness,  always  laughing  up  his  sleeve ;  twenty 
odd,  lonely  characters,  glad  to  sink  into  a  quiet  corner 
and  listen  to  the  furious  discussions  that  raged  about 
Brockhurst,  Story  and  Regan. 

335 


836  STOVERATYALE 

It  was  seldom  that  Stover  talked.  He  learned  more 
by  listening,  by  careful  weighing  of  others'  opinions,  than 
in  the  attempt  to  classify  his  own  thoughts  through  the 
medium  of  debate.  At  times  when  the  discussion  wan 
dered  from  vital  sources,  he  would  ask  a  question,  and 
these  sharp,  direct  remarks  had  a  pertinency  and  a 
searching  trenchancy  that  sometimes  upset  an  elaborate 
argument. 

Regan  brought  him  to  the  romance  of  commonplace 
things,  to  a  genuine  interest  and  study  of  political  con 
ditions;  Brockhurst  irritated  and  dissatisfied  him,  and 
so  stimulated  him  to  reading  and  self-analysis;  Story, 
with  his  seriousness  and  fairness,  recalled  him  always  to 
a  judicial  point  of  view  and  an  understanding  of  others;. 
Hungerford,  with  his  big,  effusive  nature,  always  dis 
satisfied  and  eager  for  realities,  was  akin  to  his  own 
nature,  and  they  grew  into  a  confidential  intimacy.  In 
a  community  of  splendid  barbarians,  their  circle  was 
exceptional,  due  to  the  pronounced  individuality  of  their 
several  rebellious  minds. 

Despite  the  abolition  of  the  sophomore  societies,  other 
groups  still  maintained  their  exclusiveness,  and  kept  alive 
the  old  antagonism,  as  the  approach  of  Tap  Day  in 
tensified  the  struggle  for  election  and  the  natural  cam 
paigning  of  friend  for  friend. 

As  Brockhurst  had  prophesied,  the  chairmanship  of 
the  Lit  Board  went  to  Wiggin,  a  conscientious,  thorough 
little  plodder,  who  had  never  failed  to  hand  in  to  each 
number  his  numerically  correct  quota  of  essays,  two 
stories,  a  hammered-out  poem  and  two  painful  portfolios. 

On  the  night  of  the  election,  Stover  heard  from  his 
room  in  Lyceum  the  familiar: 

"  Oh,  you  Dink  Stover  —  stick  out  your  head." 


STOVERATYALE  337 

"  Hello  there,  Brocky ;  come  up,"  he  said  anxiously. 
"Who  got  it?" 

"  Wiggin,  of  course.  Come  on  down,  I  want  a  ram 
ble." 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Brockhurst  had  shown  a 
longing  for  companionship.  Stover  returned  into  the 
room,  announcing: 

"  Poor  old  chap.     Wiggin  got  it.     Isn't  it  the  devil  ?  " 

"  Wiggin  —  oh,  Lord !  "  said  Regan. 

"  Why,  he's  not  fit  to  tie  Brocky's  shoe-strings,"  said 
Hungerford,  who  fired  a  volley  of  soul-relieving  oaths. 

"  I'm  going  down  to  bum  around  a  bit  with  him," 
said  Stover,  slipping  on  his  coat,  "  cheer  the  old  boy 
up." 

"  Well,  he  knew  it." 

"  Lots  of  difference  that  makes !  " 

Below  Brocky,  muffled  to  the  ears,  brim  down,  was 
whistling  in  unmusical  enthusiasm. 

"  'Tis  a  jolly  life  we  lead, 

Care  and  sorrow  we  defy  — " 

"Hello,  that  you,  Dink?"  he  said,  breaking  off. 
"  Come  on  for  a  tramp." 

At  that  age,  being  inexperienced,  the  undergraduate 
in  questions  of  sympathy  wisely  returns  to  the  instincts 
of  the  canine.  Stover,  without  speaking,  fell  into  his 
stride,  and  they  swung  off  towards  West  Rock. 

"  Wiggin  is  the  type  of  man,"  said  Brockhurst,  medi 
tatively  puffing  his  pipe,  "  that  is  the  glorification  of  the 
commonplace.  He  is  a  sort  of  sublime  earthworm, 
plodding  along  and  claiming  acquaintance  with  the  rose 
because  he  travels  around  the  roots.  He  is  really  by 


338  STOVERATYALE 

instinct  a  bricklayer,  and  the  danger  is  that  he  may  con 
tinue  either  in  literature  or  some  profession  where  the 
cry  is  for  imagination." 

"  You  could  have  beaten  him  out,"  said  Stover,  as  a 
solace. 

"  And  become  an  earthworm  ? "  said  Brockhurst. 
"  The  luck  of  it  is,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  heel  the  Lit. 
With  his  ideas  he  would  have  made  leader  of  the  glee 
club,  president  of  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa,  chairman  of  the 
News,  or  what  not." 

"  Still,  give  him  credit,"  said  Stover,  smiling  to  him 
self,  for  he  felt  that  he  saw  for  the  first  time  the  human 
side  of  Brockhurst. 

"  I  did ;  it  was  quite  an  amusing  time." 

"What  happened?" 

"  Why,  the  little  grubber  came  up  to  me  and  said, 
'  Brocky,  old  man,  you  ought  to  have  had  it.' " 

"  Why,  that  was  rather  decent,"  said  Stover. 

"Rubbish.  All  form,"  said  Brockhurst  impatiently. 
"  Showed  the  calibre  of  his  mind, —  the  obvious ;  nothing 
but  the  obvious.  He  thought  it  the  thing  to  say,  that's 
all." 

"Well,  what  did  you  answer?"  said  Stover  wonder 
ing. 

"  I  said,  f  Well,  why  didn't  you  vote  for  me  then  ? '  " 

Stover  burst  out  laughing,  and  Brockhurst,  who  had 
lost  a  coveted  honor,  was  a  little  mollified  by  the  tribute. 

"Of  course  he  stammered  and  looked  annoyed  — 
naturally;  situation  his  imagination  couldn't  meet,  so  I 
said: 

1 '  Come,  Wiggin,  no  stuff  and  nonsense.  You  didn't 
think  I  ought  to  have  it,  and  I  know  damn  well,  now  that 
you've  won  out,  you'll  get  a  Skull  and  Bones  to  wear, 
pose  in  the  middle  of  the  photograph  for  the  Banner,  and 


STOVER    AT    YALE  339 

be  thoroughly  satisfied  at  our  board  meeting  to  sit  back 
and  listen  while  I  do  the  talking/  " 

Stover  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"  Brocky,  you  scandalized  him." 

"Not  at  all.  He  thought  I  was  joking  —  the  last 
thing  that  occurs  to  the  grubber  is  that  wit  is  only  a  polite 
way  of  calling  a  man  an  ass." 

"  Brocky,  you're  at  your  best,  don't  stop." 

Brockhurst  smiled.  It  was  turning  a  defeat  into  a 
victory.  He  continued: 

"  After  all,  Wiggy  is  interesting.  I'll  be  revenged. 
I'll  put  him  in  a  book  some  day.  He  represents  a  type 
—  the  mathematical  mind,  quantity  not  quality.  He  set 
out  for  the  chairmanship  as  a  man  trains  for  a  long 
distance  run.  Do  you  know  the  truth?  He  rose  every 
morning  and  took  a  cold  shower,  fifty  swings  to  the  left 
with  the  dumb-bell,  fifty  to  the  right,  ate  nothing  heavy 
or  starchy  for  his  meals,  walked  the  same  distance  each 
afternoon,  and  wrorked  his  two  hours  each  night,  ham 
mering  out  divine  literature." 

"  Oh,  I  say !  "  said  Dink,  a  little  in  doubt. 

Brockhurst  began  to  laugh. 

"  He  may  have  for  all  I  know.  Now  I'll  bury  him. 
He  will  be  eminently  successful  —  I  like  that  word 
eminently.  You  see  he  has  no  sense  of  humor,  and  es 
pecially  no  imagination  to  hinder  him."  Brockhurst,  in 
one  of  his  quixotic  moods,  began  to  gesture  to  the  stars 
as  he  abandoned  himself  to  the  delights  of  his  conceit. 
"  Oh,  that's  a  wonderful  thing,  to  have  no  imagination  — 
the  saving  of  commonplace  minds.  If  Wiggin  had  an 
imagination  he  would  never  have  written  a  line,  he  would 
have  perceived  the  immense  distances  that  separated  him 
from  the  Olympians.  Instead  he  read  Stevenson, 
Dumas,  Kipling,  and,  unafraid,  wrote  little  Steven- 


340  STOVERATYALE 

son  echoes  of  Dumas,  capsule  Kiplings.  He'll  go  out 
in  the  world,  nothing  will  frighten  him.  He  will 
rebel  against  nothing,  for  he  hasn't  an  idea.  He  will 
choose  the  woman  he  needs  for  his  needs,  persuade  him 
self  that  he's  in  love,  and  then  persuade  her.  And  he'll 
believe  that's  a  virtuous  marriage.  He'll  belong  to  the 
conservative  party,  the  conservative  church,  and  will  be  a 
distinguished  subordinate,  who  will  stand  for  tradition, 
institutions,  and  will  be  said  to  resemble  some  great  man. 
Then  he'll  die,  and  will  be  pointed  to  as  a  great  example. 
Requiescat  in  pace!' 

"  Off  with  his  head,"  said  Stover  appreciatively. 
"  Now  he's  finished,  own  up,  Brocky,  that  you  are  furious 
that  you  did  not  buckle  down  and  beat  him  out." 

"  Of  course  I  am  —  damn  it,"  said  Brockhurst.  "  I 
know  I  did  right,  but  no  one  else  will  ever  know  it.  And 
the  strange  thing  is,  Dink,  the  best  thing  for  me  is  to 
have  missed  out." 

"Why,  in  Heaven's  name?" 

"  If  I  had  made  the  chairmanship,  I  should  probably 
be  tapped  for  Bones  —  one  of  the  successful.  I  might 
have  become  satisfied.  Do  you  know  that  that  is  the 
great  danger  of  this  whole  senior  business  ?  " 

"What?" 

"  The  fellow  who  wears  his  honors  like  a  halo.  He's 
made  Bones  or  Keys,  he's  a  success  in  life.  Nothing 
more  awaits  him.  '  I  was  it.'  " 

"  Still,  you  would  have  liked  it." 

"  Sure ;  I'm  inconsistent,"  said  Brocky,  with  a  laugh. 
"  It's  only  when  I  don't  get  what  I  want  that  my  beauti 
ful  reason  shows  me  I  shouldn't  have  had  it." 

"  Well,  there's  no  danger  of  either  of  us  disappearing 
under  the  halos,"  said  Stover  shortly. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  about  you,"  said  Brockhurst. 


STOVERATYALE  341 

The  casual  doubt  aroused  strange  emotions  in  Stover. 

"  I  thought  you  didn't  believe  in  them,"  he  said 
slowly. 

"  I  don't.  I  don't  believe  in  organizations,  institutions, 
traditions  —  that's  my  point  of  view,"  said  Brockhurst. 
"  But  then  I'm  in  the  world  to  be  in  revolt." 

11  You  once  spoke  of  the  society  system  —  the  whole 
thing  as  it  exists  in  America  — "  said  Stover,  "  as  a  sort 
of  idol  worship.  I  never  quite  understood  your  mean 
ing." 

"  Why,  I  think  it's  quite  obvious,"  said  Brockhurst 
surprised.  "  What  was  idol  worship  ?  A  large  body  of 
privileged  charlatans,  calling  themselves  priests,  im 
pressed  the  masses  with  all  the  flummery  of  mysterious 
ceremonies,  convenient  voices  issuing  from  caves  or 
stone  idols.  What  was  an  idol?  An  ordinary  chunk  of 
marble,  let  us  say,  issuing  from  the  sculptor's  chisel. 
When  did  it  become  sacred  and  awe-inspiring?  When 
it  had  been  placed  in  an  inner  shrine  of  shrines,  removed 
from  the  public,  veiled  in  shadows,  obscured  by  incense, 
guarded  by  solicitous  guards ;  the  stone  is  still  a  stone  but 
the  populace  is  convinced.  Look  into  a  well  in  daylight 
—  commonplace ;  look  into  it  at  night  —  a  great  mystery ; 
black  is  never  empty,  the  imagination  fills  it." 

"How  does  this  apply?"  said  Stover,  impatiently. 

"  Cases  are  parallel.  A  group  of  us  come  together  for 
the  purpose  of  debate  and  discussion;  no  one  notices  it 
beyond  a  casual  thought.  Suddenly  we  surround  our 
selves  with  mystery,  appear  on  the  campus  with  a  sensa 
tional  pin  stuck  in  our  cravats,  a  bat's  head  or  a  gallows, 
and  when,  marvellously  enough,  some  one  asks  us  what 
the  dickens  we  are  wearing,  we  turn  away;  instantly  it- 
becomes  known  that  something  so  deadly  secret  has  be 
gun  that  we  have  sworn  to  shed  our  heart's  blood  be- 


STOVERATYALE 

fore  we  allow  the  holy,  sacred  name  of  Bat's  Head  or 
Callow's  Bird  to  pass  our  lips ! " 

"It's  a  little  foolish,  but  what's  the  harm?" 

"  The  harm  is  that  this  mumbo- jumbo,  fee-fi-fo-fum, 
high  cockalorum  business  is  taken  seriously.  It's  the 
effect  on  the  young  imagination  that  comes  here  that  is 
harmful.  Dink,  I  tell  you,  and  I  mean  it  solemnly,  that 
when  a  boy  comes  here  to  Yale,  or  any  other  American 
college,  and  gets  the  flummery  in  his  system,  believes  in 
it  —  surrenders  to  it  —  so  that  he  trembles  in  the  shadow 
of  a  tomblike  building,  doesn't  dare  to  look  at  a  pin  that 
stares  him  in  the  face,  is  afraid  to  pronounce  the  holy, 
sacred  names ;  when  he's  got  to  that  point  he  has  ceased 
to  think,  and  no  amount  of  college  life  is  going  to 
revive  him.  That's  the  worst  thing  about  it  all,  this 
mental  subjection  which  the  average  man  undergoes  here 
when  he  comes  up  against  all  this  rigmarole  of  Tap 
Day,  gloomy  society  halls,  marching  home  at  night,  et 
cetera  —  et  ceteray.  By  George,  it  is  a  return  of  the  old 
idol-worship  idea  —  thinking  men  in  this  twentieth  cen 
tury  being  impressed  by  the  same  methods  that  kept 
nations  in  servitude  to  charlatans  three  thousand  years 
before.  It's  wrong,  fundamentally  wrong  —  it's  a  crime 
against  the  whole  moving  spirit  of  university  history  — 
the  history  of  a  struggle  for  the  liberation  of  the  human 
mind." 

"  But,  Brocky,  what  would  you  have  them  do  —  run  as 
open  clubs  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Brockhurst.  "  I  would  strip  them 
of  all  nonsense;  in  fact  that  is  their  weakness,  not  their 
strength,  and  it  is  all  unnecessary.  This  is  wrhat  I'd  do : 
drop  the  secrecy  —  this  extraordinary  muffled  breathless 
guarding  of  an  empty  can  —  retain  the  privilege  any  club 
has  of  excluding  outsiders,  stop  this  childishness  of  get- 


STOVER   AT   YALE  343 

ting  up  and  leaving  the  room  if  some  old  lady  happens 
to  ask  are  you  a  Bones  man  or  a  Keys  man.  Instead, 
when  a  Bones  man  goes  to  see  a  freshman  whom  he 
wants  to  befriend,  have  him  say  openly  as  he  passes  the 
chapter  house: 

"  '  That's  my  society  —  Skull  and  Bones.  It  stands  as 
a  reward  of  merit  here.  Hope  you'll  do  something  to 
deserve  it.' 

"  Which  is  the  better  of  the  two  ideas,  the  saner,  the 
manlier  and  the  more  natural?  What  would  they  lose 
by  eliminating  the  objectionable,  unnecessary  features  — 
all  of  which  you  may  be  sure  were  started  as  horse  play, 
and  have  curiously  enough  come  to  be  taken  in  deadly 
earnestness?  " 

"  I  think  you  exaggerate  a  little,"  said  Stover,  un 
willing  to  accept  this  arraignment. 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Brockhurst  stubbornly.  "The 
thing  is  a  fetish;  it  gets  you;  it's  meant  to  get  you.  It 
gets  me,  and  if  you're  honest  you'll  admit  it  gets  you. 
Now  own  up." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  does." 

"  Now,  Dink,  you're  righting  for  one  thing  up  here, 
the  freedom  of  your  mind  and  your  will." 

"  Why,  yes,"  Stover  said,  surprised  at  Brockhurst's 
knowledge  of  his  inner  conflicts.  "  Yes,  that's  exactly 
what  I'm  fighting  out." 

"  Well,  my  boy,  you'll  never  get  what  you're  after 
until  you  see  this  thing  as  it  is  —  the  unreasoning  harm 
done,  the  poppycock  that  has  been  thrown  around  a  good 
central  idea  —  if  you  admit  such  things  are  necessary, 
which  of  course  I  don't." 

"  You  see,"  said  Stover  stubbornly,  "  you're  against  all 
organization." 

"  I     certainly     am  —  inherited     organizations,"     said 


344  STOVERATYALE 

Brockhurst  immediately,  "  organizations  that  are  im 
posed  on  you.  The  only  organization  necessary  is  the 
natural,  spontaneous  coming  together  of  congenial  ele 
ments." 

They  had  returned  to  the  campus,  and  Brockhurst,  by 
intent  leading  the  way,  stopped  before  the  lugubrious 
bulk  of  Skull  and  Bones. 

"  There  you  are,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  Look  at  it. 
It's  built  of  the  same  stone  as  other  buildings,  it  has  in 
it  what  secret?  Go  up,  young  Egyptian,  to  its  mystery 
in  awe  and  reverence,  young  idol  worshiper  of  thirty 
centuries  ago." 

"  Damn  it,  Brocky,  it  does  get  me,"  said  Stover  with 
a  short  laugh. 

"  Curious,"  said  Brockhurst,  turning  away.  "  The 
architecture  of  these  sacred  tombs  is  almost  invariably 
the  suggestion  of  the  dungeon  —  the  prison  of  the  human 
mind." 

Stover's  conversation  with  Brockhurst  did  not  at  first 
trouble  him  much.  Curiously  enough  the  one  idea  he 
retained  was  that  Brockhurst  had  spoken  of  him  as  a 
possibility  for  Tap  Day. 

"  What  nonsense,"  he  said  to  himself  angrily.  "  Here, 
I  know  better !  " 

But  the  next  afternoon,  the  thought  returning  to  him 
with  pleasure,  all  at  once,  following  a  boyish  whim,  he 
passed  into  his  old  entry  at  Lawrence,  and,  going  down  a 
little  guiltily  into  the  region  of  the  bath-tubs,  came  to 
the  wall  on  which  was  inscribed  the  lists  of  his  class. 

On  the  Bones  list,  third  from  the  top,  the  name  Stover 
had  been  replaced  and  heavily  underlined. 

It  gave  him  quite  a  thrill;  something  seemed  to  leap 
up  inside  of  him,  and  he  went  out  hastily.  Then  all  at 


STOVERATYALE  345 

once  he  became  angry.  It  was  like  opening  up  again  a 
fight  that  had  been  fought  and  lost. 

"  What  an  ass  I  am,"  he  said  furiously.  "  The  deuce 
of  a  chance  I  have  to  go  Bones  —  with  Reynolds  and  Le 
Baron.  Can  the  leopard  change  his  spots?  About  as 
much  chance  as  a  ki-yi  has  to  go  through  a  sausage 
machine  and  come  out  with  a  bark." 

But,  as  he  went  towards  Jean  Story's  home,  thinking 
of  her  and  what  she  would  want,  the  force  of  what 
Brockhurst  had  said  began  to  weaken. 

"  Brocky  is  impractical,"  he  said  artfully.  "  We 
must  deal  with  things  as  they  are,  make  the  best  of  them. 
He  exaggerates  the  effect  on  the  imagination.  At  any 
rate,  no  one  can  accuse  me  of  not  taking  a  stand." 

He  saw  the  old  colonial  home,  white  and  distinguished 
under  the  elms,  and  he  said  to  himself,  hoping  against 
hope: 

"  If  I  were  tapped  —  it  would  mean  a  good  deal  to 
her.  I'll  be  darned  if  I'll  let  Brocky  work  me  up.  I'm 
not  going  up  against  anything  more !  I've  done  enough 
here." 

He  said  it  defiantly,  for  the  courage  of  a  man  has  two 
factors,  his  courage  and  the  courage  of  the  woman  he 
loves. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

WHEN  he  had  returned  to  the  college  after  the 
summer,  he  came  to  his  first  call  on  Jean  Story 
with  a  confident  enthusiasm,  eager  for  the  first  look  in 
her  eyes.  He  had  not  corresponded  with  her  during  the 
summer.  He  had  not  even  asked  for  permission  to 
write,  confident  though  he  was  that  her  consent  would 
now  be  given.  He  was  resolved,  as  a  penance  for  his 
first  blunder,  to  hold  himself  in  reserve  on  every  occa 
sion.  Bob  had  written  the  news,  always  pressing  him 
to  take  two  weeks  off  for  a  visit  to  the  camp,  but  Dink, 
despite  the  tugging  at  his  heart,  had  stuck  to  Regan, 
perhaps  a  little  secretly  pleased  to  show  his  earnestness. 

Now,  as  he  came  swinging  impatiently  toward  the 
glowing  white  columns  under  the  elms,  he  realized  all  at 
once  what  was  the  moving  influence  in  his  struggle  for 
growth  and  independence. 

"  Here  is  the  horny-handed  son  of  toil,"  he  said,  hold 
ing  out  his  hand  with  a  laugh. 

She  took  it,  turning  over  the  firm  palm  with  a  little 
curiosity,  and  looked  at  him  sharply,  aware  of  a  great 
change  —  they  were  no  longer  boy  and  girl.  The  vaca 
tion  had  made  of  the  impetuous  Dink  Stover  she  had 
known  a  new  personality  that  was  strange  and  a  little 
intimidating. 

He  did  not  understand  at  all  the  sudden  dropping  of 
her  look,  nor  the  uneasy  turning  away,  nor  the  quick 
constraint  that  came.  He  was  hurt  with  a  sudden  sharp 
sting  that  he  had  never  known  before,  and  the  ache  of 

346 


STOVERATYALE  347 

unreasoning  jealousy  at  the  bare  thought  of  what  might 
have  happened  during  the  summer. 

"  I'm  awfully  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said,  but  the  words 
sounded  formal. 

He  followed  her  into  the  parlor  puzzled,  irritated  by 
something  he  did  not  understand,  something  that  lay 
underneath  everything  she  said,  and  seemed  to  interpose 
itself  as  a  barrier  between  them  and  the  old  open  feeling 
of  camaraderie. 

"  Mother  will  be  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said,  after  a 
little  moment  of  awkwardness.  "  I  must  call  her." 

This  maneuver  completed  his  bewilderment,  which 
increased  when,  Mrs.  Story  joining  them,  suddenly  the 
Jean  Story  of  old  returned  with  the  same  cordiality  and 
the  same  enthusiasm.  She  asked  a  hundred  questions, 
leading  him  on  until  he  was  launched  into  an  account  of 
his  summer  experiences,  the  little  bits  of  real  life  that 
had  brought  home  to  him  the  seriousness  of  the  world 
that  waited  outside. 

He  spoke  not  as  the  Stover  of  sophomore  year,  filled 
with  the  enthusiasm  of  discovery,  but  with  a  maturer 
mind,  which  had  begun  to  reflect  and  to  reason  upon  what 
had  come  into  his  knowledge. 

Mrs.  Story,  sunk  in  the  old  high-backed  arm-chair  near 
the  fire,  followed  him,  too,  aware  also  of  the  change  in 
the  boy,  wondering  what  lay  in  the  mind  of  her  daugh 
ter,  camped  at  her  knee  on  the  hearth  rug,  listening 
so  intently  and  yet  clinging  to  her  as  though  for  in 
stinctive  protection. 

Stover  spoke  only  of  outward  things ;  the  thoughts  that 
lay  beneath,  that  would  have  come  out  so  eagerly  before 
the  girl,  did  not  appear  in  the  presence  of  another.  As 
he  understood  nothing  of  this  sudden  introduction  of  a 
third  into  the  old  confidential  relationship,  he  decided 


348  STOVER    AT    YALE 

to  be  more 'formal  than  the  girl,  and  rose  while  still  his 
audience's  attention  was  held  by  his  account. 

"  It's  been  awfully  jolly  to  see  you  again,"  he  said 
with  a  perfect  manner  to  Mrs.  Stover. 

"  But  you're  going  to  stay  to  dinner,"  she  said,  with  a 
little  smile. 

"  Awfully  sorry,  but  I've  got  a  dozen  things  to  do," 
he  said,  in  the  same  careful,  matter-of-fact  tone.  "  Bob 
sent  word  he'd  come  later." 

Jean  Story  had  not  urged  him.  He  went  to  her  with 
mechanical  cheeriness,  saying: 

"  Good-by.     You're  looking  splendidly." 

She  did  not  answer,  being  in  one  of  her  silent  moods. 
Mrs.  Story  went  with  him  towards  the  door,  with  a  few 
practical  housekeeping  questions  on  the  menage  that  had 
just  begun.  As  they  were  in  the  ante-room,  Jim  Hunter 
entered  and,  greeting  them,  passed  into  the  salon. 

Stover,  deaf  to  anything  else,  heard  her  greeting: 

"  Why,  Jim,  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

Mrs.  Story  was  asking  him  a  question,  but  he  did  not 
hear  it.  He  heard  only  the  echoes  of  what  seemed  to 
him  the  joy  in  her  laugh. 

"  If  you  need  any  rugs  let  me  know,"  said  Mrs.  Story 
in  patient  repetition. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  stammered.  "  Yes  —  yes,  of 
course." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  little  maternal  pity,  knowing 
the  pang  that  had  gone  through  him,  and  for  a  moment 
a  word  was  on  her  lips  to  enlighten  him.  But  she 
judged  it  wiser  to  be  silent,  and  said: 

"  Come  in  for  dinner  to-morrow  night,  surely." 

This  invitation  fitted  at  once  into  Stover's  scheme  of 
mislogic.  He  saw  in  it  a  mark  of  compassion,  and  of 
compassion  for  what  reason?  Plainly,  Jean  was  inter- 


STOVERATYALE 

ested  in  some  one  else,  perhaps  engaged.  In  ten  minutes, 
to  his  own  lugubrious  satisfaction,  he  had  convinced  him 
self  it  was  no  other  than  Jim  Hunter.  But  a  short, 
inquisitive  talk  with  Joe  Hungerford,  who  magnani 
mously  appeared  stupidly  unconscious  of  the  real  motives, 
reassured  him  on  this  point.  So,  after  the  hot  tempest 
of  jealousy,  he  began  to  feel  a  little  resentment  at  her 
new,  illogical  attitude  of  defensive  formality. 

Gradually,  as  he  gave  no  sign  of  unbending  from  his 
own  assumption  of  strict  politeness,  she  began  to  change, 
but  so  gradually  that  it  was  not  for  weeks  that  he  per 
ceived  that  the  old  intimate  relations  had  returned.  This 
little  interval,  however,  had  brought  to  him  a  new  under 
standing.  With  her  he  had  lost  the  old  impulsiveness. 
He  began  to  reason  and  analyze,  to  think  of  cause  and 
effect  in  their  relationship.  As  a  consequence  the  ini-' 
tiative  and  the  authority  that  had  formerly  been  with 
her  came  to  him.  All  at  once  he  perceived,  to  his  utter 
surprise,  what  she  had  felt  immediately  on  his  return: 
that  he  was  the  stronger,  and  that  the  old,  blind,  boyish 
adoration  for  the  girl,  who  was  companion  to  the  stars, 
had  steadied  into  the  responsible  and  guiding  love  of  a 
man. 

This  new  supremacy  brought  with  it  several  differ 
ences  of  opinion.  When  the  question  of  the  football 
captaincy  had  come  up  he  did  not  tell  her  of  his  deci 
sion,  afraid  of  the  ambition  he  knew  was  strong  in  her 
for  his  career. 

When  he  saw  her  the  next  night,  Bob  had  already 
brought  the  news  and  the  reason.  She  received  him 
with  great  distance,  and  for  the  first  time  showed  a  little 
cruelty  in  her  complete  ignoring  of  his  presence. 

"  You  are  angry  at  me,"  he  said,  when  finally  he  had 
succeeded  in  finding  her  alone. 


350  STOVERATYALE 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  she  said  point  blank.  "  Why  didn't  you 
tell  me  what  you  were  planning?" 

"I  didn't  dare,"  he  said  frankly.  "You  wouldn't 
have  approved." 

"  Of  course  I  wouldn't.  It  was  ridiculous.  Why 
shouldn't  you  be  the  captain  ?  " 

"  There  were  reasons,"  he  said  seriously.  "  I  should 
not  have  had  a  united  team  back  of  me  —  oh,  I  know 
it." 

"  Absurd,"  she  said  with  some  heat.  "  You  should 
have  gone  out  and  made  them  follow  you.  Really,  it's 
too  absurd,  renouncing  everything.  Here's  the  Junior 
Prom;  every  one  says  you  would  have  led  the  class  if 
you'd  have  stood  for  it." 

"  Yes,  and  it's  just  because  a  lot  of  fellows  thought 
they  knew  my  whole  game  of  democracy  that  I  wouldn't 
stand  for  it." 

She  grew  quite  angry.  He  had  never  seen  her  so 
stirred. 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense.  What  do  you  care  for  their 
opinion?  You  should  be  captain  and  chairman  of  the 
Prom,  but  you  renounce  everything  —  you  seem  to  de 
light  in  it.  It's  too  absurd;  it's  ridiculous.  It's  like 
Don  Quixote  riding  around." 

He  was  hurt  at  this,  and  his  face  showed  it. 

"  It's  something  to  be  able  to  refuse  what  others  are 
grabbing  for,"  he  said  shortly.  "  But  all  you  seem  to 
care  for  is  the  name." 

The  flash  that  was  in  his  eyes  surprised  her,  and  the 
sudden  stern  note  in  his  voice  that  she  had  never  heard 
before  brought  her  to  a  quick  realization  of  how  she 
must  have  wounded  him.  Her  manner  changed.  She 
became  very  gentle,  and  before  he  went  she  said  hur 
riedly  : 


STOVERATYALE  351 

"  Forgive  me.  You  were  right,  and  I  was  very  petty." 
But  though  he  had  shown  his  independence  of  her 
ambitions  for  him,  and  gained  thereby,  at  heart  he  had 
a  foolish  longing,  a  senseless  dream  of  winning  out  on 
Tap  Day  —  just  for  the  estimation  he  knew  she  held  of 
that  honor.  And,  wishing  this  ardently,  he  was  influ 
enced  by  it.  There  were  questions  about  the  senior 
societies  that  he  had  not  put  to  himself  honestly,  as  he 
had  in  the  case  of  the  sophomore.  He  knew  they  were 
way  back  in  his  mind,  claiming  to  be  met,  but,  thinking 
of  Jean,  he  said  to  himself  evasively  again  and  again : 

"  Suppose  there  are  bad  features.  I've  done  enough 
to  show  my  nerve.  No  one  can  question  that !  " 

With  the  passing  of  the  winter,  and  the  return  to 
college  in  the  pleasant  month  of  April,  the  final,  all- 
absorbing  Tap  Day  loomed  over  them  only  six  weeks 
away.  It  was  not  a  particularly  agreeable  period.  The 
contending  ambitions  were  too  keen,  too  conflicting,  for 
the  maintenance  of  the  old  spirit  of  comradeship.  The 
groups  again  defined  themselves,  and  the  "  lame  ducks," 
in  the  hopes  of  being  noticed,  assiduously  cultivated  the 
society  of  what  are  called  "  the  big  men." 

One  afternoon  in  the  first  week  in  April,  as  Dink 
was  returning  from  the  gymnasium,  he  was  suddenly 
called  to  from  the  street.  Chris  Schley  and  Troutman, 
in  a  two-seated  rig,  were  hallooing : 

"  Hello  there,  Dink." 

"  Come  for  a  ride." 

"  Jump  in  —  join  us." 

The  two  had  never  been  of  his  intimates,  belonging 
to  a  New  York  crowd,  who  were  spoken  of  for  Keys. 
He  hesitated,  but  as  he  was  free  he  considered : 

"What's  the  game?" 


352  STOVERATYALE 

"  We're  out  for  a  spin  towards  the  shore.  Tommy 
Bain  and  Stone  were  going  but  had  to  drop  out.  Come 
along.  We  might  get  a  shore  supper,  and  toddle  back 
by  moonlight." 

"  I've  got  to  be  here  by  seven,"  said  Dink  doubtfully. 

"  Oh,  well,  come  on;  we'll  make  it  just  a  drive." 

"  Fine." 

He  sprang  into  the  front  seat,  and  they  started  off 
in  the  young,  tingling  air.  Troutman,  at  the  reins,  was 
decidedly  unfamiliar  with  their  uses,  and,  at  a  fervent 
plea  from  Schley,  Stover  assumed  control.  Since  fresh 
man  year  the  three  had  been  seldom  thrown  together. 
He  remembered  Troutman  then  as  a  rather  overgrown 
puppy  type,  and  Schley  as  a  nuisance  and  a  hanger-on. 
He  scanned  them  now,  pleasantly  surprised  at  their  trans 
formation.  They  had  come  into  a  clean-cut  type,  affable, 
alert,  and  if  there  was  small  mark  of  character,  there 
was  an  abundance  of  good-humor,  liveliness,  and  so 
ciability. 

"  Well,  Dink,  old  chap,"  said  Troutman,  as  he  passed 
along  quieter  ways,  "  the  fatal  day  approaches." 

"  It  does." 

"  A  lot  of  seniors  are  out  buying  nice  brand-new 
derbies  to  wear  for  our  benefit." 

"  I'll  bet  they're  scrapping  like  cats  and  dogs,"  said 
Schley. 

"  They  say  last  year  the  Bones  list  wasn't  agreed  upon 
until  five  minutes  before  five." 

"  The  Bones  crowd  always  fight,"  said  Schley,  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  opposite  camp.  "  I  say,  Dink, 
did  you  ever  think  of  heeling  Keys  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  not  a  good  enough  jollier  up  for  that 
crowd." 


STOVERATYALE  353 

"  They  say  this  year  Keys  is  going  to  shut  down  on 
the  sporting  life  and  swipe  some  of  the  Bones  type." 

"Really?"  said  Stover,  in  disbelief. 

"  Sure  thing ;  Tommy  Bain  has  switched." 

"  I  heard  he  was  packer,"  said  Stover,  not  particularly 
depressed.  In  the  college  the  rumor  had  always  been 
that  the  Keys  crowd  had  what  was  termed  a  packer  in 
the  junior  class,  who  helped  them  to  pledge  some  of  their 
selections  before  Tap  Day. 

"  Sure  he  is,"  said  Troutman,  with  conviction. 

"Wish  he'd  stuck  to  Bones,"  said  Schley.  "Yours 
truly  would  feel  more  hopeful." 

"  Why,  you  fellows  are  sure,"  said  Stover  to  be  polite. 

"The  deuce  we  are!" 

Schley,  tiring  of  the  conversation,  was  amusing  him 
self  from  the  back  seat  by  well-simulated  starts  of  sur 
prise  and  a  sudden  snatching  off  of  his  hat  to  different 
passers-by,  exclaiming : 

"  Why,  how  do  you  do.  I  remember  meeting  you  be 
fore." 

He  did  it  well,  communicated  his  good  spirits  to  the 
pedestrians,  who  took  his  banter  good-naturedly. 

All  at  once  his  mischievous  eye  perceived  two  girls  of 
a  rather  noticeable  type.  Instantly  he  was  on  his  feet, 
with  an  exaggerated  sweep  of  his  hat,  exclaiming: 

"  Ladies,  accept  my  carriage,  my  prancing  horses,  my 
groom  and  my  footman." 

The  girls,  bursting  into  laughter,  waved  to  him. 

"  Yes,  it's  a  lovely  day,"  continued  Schley,  in  imita 
tion  of  McNab.  "  Mother's  gone  to  the  country,  aunty's 
visiting  us  now,  Uncle  John's  coming  to-morrow  —  he'll 
be  sober  then.  Too  bad,  girls,  you're  going  the  other 
way,  and  such  lovely  weather.  Won't  you  take  a  ride? 


354  STOVERATYALE 

What  ?  Oh,  do  now.  Here,  I  say,  Dink  —  whoa  there ! 
They're  coming." 

"  Rats,"  said  Troutman,  glancing  uneasily  up  the 
street. 

"  Sure  they  are.  Whoa !  Hold  up.  We'll  give  'em 
a  little  ride,  just  for  a  lark.  What's  the  diff?  " 

He  was  down,  hat  off,  with  exaggerated  Chesterfield 
politeness,  going  to  their  coming. 

"  Do  you  mind  ? "  said  Troutman  to  Stover. 
"  Schley's  a  crazy  ass  to  do  this  just  now." 

"  I  wouldn't  take  them  far,"  said  Stover,  who  did  not 
particularly  care.  He  had  no  facility  for  bantering  of 
this  sort,  but  it  rather  amused  him  to  listen  to  Schley. 
He  saw  that  while  they  were  of  an  obvious  type  one  was 
insipid,  and  the  other  rather  pretty,  dark  with  Irish 
black  eyes. 

"  Ladies,  I  wish  to  make  you  acquainted  with  my 
friends,"  said  Schley,  as  he  might  speak  to  a  duchess. 
"  The  ill-favored  gent  with  the  vermilion  hair  is  the 
Reverend  Doctor  Balmfmder;  the  one  with  the  padded 
shoulders  is  Binks,  my  trainer.  Now  what  is  this  little 
girl's  name  ?  " 

"  Muriel,"  said  the  blonde,  "  Muriel  Stacey." 

"  Of  course,  I  might  have  known  it.  And  yours  of 
course  is  Maude,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Fanny  Le  Roy,"  said  the  brunette  with 
a  little  pride. 

"  Dear  me,  what  a  beautiful  name,"  said  Schley. 
"  Now  girls,  we'll  take  you  for  a  little  ride,  but  we  can't 
take  you  very  far  for  our  mammas  don't  know  we're  out, 
and  you  must  promise  to  be  very  good  and  get  out  when 
we  tell  you,  and  not  ask  for  candy !  Do  we  promise  ?  " 

Schley  sat  on  the  rear  seat,  chatting  along,  a  girl  on 
either  side  of  him,  while  Troutman,  facing  about,  added 


STOVER    AT    YALE  355 

his  badinage.  It  was  not  excruciatingly  witty,  and  yet 
at  times  Stover,  occupied  with  the  driving,  could  not 
help  bursting  into  a  laugh  at  the  sheer  nonsense.  It  in 
terested  him  as  a  spectator ;  it  was  a  side  of  life  he  knew 
little  of,  for,  his  nature  being  sentimental,  he  was  a  little 
afraid  of  such  women. 

"  What's  our  real  names  ?  "  said  Troutman  in  reply 
to  a  demand.  "  Do  you  really  want  to  know  ?  We'll 
send  them  to  you.  Of  course  we've  met  before.  In 
New  York,  wasn't  it,  at  the  junior  cotillion?" 

"  Sure  I  saw  this  fellow  at  the  Hari-gori's  ball,"  said 
Fanny,  appealing  to  her  companion. 

"  Sure  you  did." 

"  If  you  say  so,  all  right,"  said  Troutman,  winking  at 
Schley.  "  Fanny,  you  have  beautiful  eyes.  Course  you 
don't  know  it." 

"  You  two  are  great  jolliers,  aren't  you?  "  said  Fanny, 
receiving  the  slap-stick  compliment  with  pleasure. 

"  They  think  we're  easy,"  said  Muriel,  with  a  look  at 
Schley. 

"  I  think  the  fellow  that's  driving  is  the  best  of  the 
lot,"  said  Fanny,  with  the  usual  method  of  attack. 

"  Wow,"  said  Troutman. 

"  Come  on  back,"  said  Schley,  "  we  don't  count." 

Stover  laughed  and  drove  on.  The  party  had  now 
passed  the  point  of  interest.  He  had  no  desire  for  a 
chance  meeting  that  would  require  explanations,  but  he 
volunteered  no  advice,  not  caring  to  appear  prudish  in 
the  company  of  such  men  of  the  world. 

They  were  in  the  open  country,  the  outskirts  of  New 
Haven  just  left  behind.  For  some  time  Fanny  Le  Roy 
had  been  silent,  pressing  her  hand  against  her  side, 
frowning.  All  at  once  a  cry  was  wrung  from  her.  The 
carriage  stopped.  All  turned  in  alarm  to  where  the 


356  STOVER    AT    YALE 

girl,  her  teeth  compressed,  clutching  at  her  side,  was  lying 
back  against  the  seat,  writhing  in  agony. 

Troutman  swore  under  his  breath. 

"  A  devil  of  a  mess !  " 

They  descended  hurriedly  and  laid  the  girl  on  the 
grass,  where  her  agony  continued  increasingly.  Schley 
and  Troutman  were  whispering  apart.  The  other  girl, 
hysterically  bending  over  her  companion,  mopped  her 
face  with  a  useless  handkerchief,  crying: 

"  She's  got  a  fit ;  she's  got  a  fit !  " 

"  I  say  it's  appendicitis  or  gripes,"  said  Troutman,  com 
ing  over  to  Stover.  His  face  was  colorless,  and  he  spoke 
the  words  nervously.  "  The  deuce  of  a  fix  Chris  has  got 
us  into ! " 

"  Come,  we've  got  to  get  her  back,"  said  Stover,  real 
izing  the  gravity  of  the  situation.  He  went  abruptly  to 
the  girl  and  spoke  with  quick  authority.  "  Now  stop 
crying;  I  want  you  to  get  hold  of  yourself.  Here 
Schley,  lend  a  hand;  you  and  Troutman  get  her  back 
into  the  carriage.  Do  it  quickly." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  said  Troutman,  under 
his  breath. 

"  Drive  her  to  a  doctor,  of  course." 

"  Couldn't  we  go  and  fetch  a  doctor  here  ?  " 

"No,  we  couldn't!" 

With  some  difficulty  they  got  the  suffering  girl  into 
the  carriage  and  started  back.  No  one  spoke ;  the  banter 
had  given  place  to  a  few  muttered  words  that  broke  the 
moaning,  delirious  tones  of  the  stricken  girl. 

"  Going  to  drive  into  New  Haven  this  way  ?  "  said 
Troutman,  for  the  second  time  under  his  breath. 

"  Sure." 

"  Hell ! " 

They  came  to  the  city  streets,  and  Stover  drove  on 


STOVER    AT    YALE  357 

hastily,  seeking  from  right  to  left  for  a  doctor.  All  at 
once  he  drew  up  at  the  curb,  flung  the  reins  to  Trout- 
man,  and  rushed  into  a  house  where  he  had  seen  a  sign 
displayed  — "  Dr.  Burke."  He  was  back  almost  immedi 
ately  with  the  doctor  at  his  heels. 

"  I  say,  Dink,  look  here,"  said  Schley,  plucking  him 
aside,  as  the  doctor  hurriedly  examined  the  girl.  "  This 
is  a  deuce  of  a  mess." 

"  You  bet  it  is,"  said  Stover,  thinking  of  the  sufferer. 

"  I  say,  if  this  gets  out  it'll  be  a  nasty  business." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  If  we're  seen  driving  back  with  —  well,  with  this 
bunch ! " 

"  What  do  you  propose  ?  "  said  Stover  sharply. 

Troutman  joined  them. 

"  See  here,  leave  her  with  the  doctor,  I'll  put  up  all 
the  money  that's  necessary,  the  doctor'll  keep  a  close 
mouth !  Man  alive,  you  can't  go  back  this  way !  " 

"Why  not?" 

"  Good  Lord,  it'll  queer  us, —  we'll  never  get  over  it." 

"  Think  of  the  papers,"  said  Schley,  plucking  at  his 
glove. 

"  We  can  fix  it  up  with  the  doctor." 

At  this  moment  Dr.  Burke  joined  them,  quiet,  business 
like,  anxious. 

"  She  has  all  the  symptoms  of  a  bad  attack  of  appendi 
citis.  There's  only  one  thing  to  do;  get  her  to  the 
hospital  at  once.  I'll  get  my  hat  and  join  you." 

"  Drive  to  —  drive  to  the  hospital  ?  "  said  Troutman, 
with  a  gasp,  "  right  through  the  whole  city,  right  in  the 
face  of  every  one  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Dink,"  said  Schley  nervously. 
"  We'll  fix  up  Burke ;  we'll  give  him  a  hundred  to  take 
her  and  shut  up." 


358  STOVER    AT    YALE 

Stover,  too,  saw  the  danger  and  the  inevitable  scandal. 
He  saw,  also,  that  they  were  no  longer  men  as  he  had 
thought.  The  thin  veneer  had  disappeared  —  they  were 
boys,  terrified,  aghast  at  a  crisis  beyond  their  strength. 

"  You're  right,  it  would  queer  you"  he  said  abruptly. 
"  Clear  out  —  both  of  you." 

"And  you?" 

"  You're  going  to  stay  ?  "  said  Schley.  Neither  could 
face  his  eyes. 

"  Clear  out,  I  tell  you !  " 

When  Burke  came  running  down  the  steps  he  looked 
at  Stover  in  surprise. 

"  Hello,  where  are  your  friends  ?  " 

"  They  had  other  engagements,"  said  Dink  grimly. 
"  All  ready." 

"  I've  seen  your  face  before,"  said  Dr.  Burke,  climbing 
in. 

"  I'm  Stover." 

"Dink  Stover  of  the  eleven?" 

"  Yes,  Dink  Stover  of  the  eleven,"  said  Stover,  his  face 
hardening.  "  Where  do  I  drive  ?  " 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  quietly  ?  "  said  Dr.  Burke,  with  a 
look  of  sympathetic  understanding. 

From  behind  the  girl,  writhing,  began  to  moan : 

"Oh,  Doctor  —  Doctor  —  I  can't  stand  it  — I  can't 
stand  it." 

"  What's  the  quickest  way?  "  said  Stover. 

"  Chapel  Street,"  said  the  doctor. 

Stover  turned  the  horses'  heads  into  the  thoroughfare, 
looking  straight  ahead,  aware  soon  of  the  men  who  saw 
him  in  the  full  light  of  the  day,  driving  through  the 
streets  of  New  Haven  in  such  inexplicable  company. 
And  suddenly  at  the  first  turn  he  came  face  to  face  with 
another  carriage  in  which  were  Jean  Story  and  her 
mother. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

WHEN  Stover  returned  to  his  rooms,  it  was  long 
after  supper. 

"  Where  the  deuce  have  you  been  ?  "  said  Hungerf ord, 
looking  up  from  his  books. 

"  Went  for  a  drive,  got  home  late,"  said  Stover  shortly. 
He  filled  the  companionable  pipe,  and  sank  into  the  low 
arm-chair,  which  Regan  had  broken  for  comfort.  Some 
thing  in  his  abrupt  procedure  caused  Bob  Story  to  look 
over  at  Regan  with  an  inquiring  raise  of  his  eyebrows. 

"Got  this  psychology  yet?"  said  Hungerf  ord,  to  try 
him  out. 

"  No,"  said  Stover. 

"Going  to  get  it?" 

"  No." 

"  The  thinghood  of  a  thing  is  its  indefinable  somewhat- 
ness,"  said  Hungerford,  with  another  slashing  attack  on 
the  common  enemy,  to  divert  Stover's  attention.  "  What 
in  the  name  of  peanuts  does  that  stuff  mean  ?  " 

Dink,  refusing  to  be  drawn  into  conversation,  sat  en 
veloped  in  smoke  clouds,  his  eyes  on  the  clock. 

"  Hello,  I  forgot,"  said  Story  presently.  "  I  say,  Dink, 
Troutman  and  Schley  were  around  here  hallooing  for 
you." 

"They  were,  eh?" 

"  About  an  hour  ago.  Wanted  to  see  you  particularly. 
Said  they'd  be  around  again." 

"  I  see." 

At  this  moment  from  below  came  a  bellow: 
359 


360  STOVER    AT    YALE 

"  Oh,  Dink  Stover  —  hello  above  there !  " 

"  That's  Troutman  now,"  said  Joe  Hungerford. 

Stover  went  to  the  window,  flinging  it  up. 

"Well,  who's  there?" 

"  Troutman  and  Chris  Schley.  I  say,  Dink,  we've  got 
to  see  you.  Come  on  down." 

"  Thanks,  I  haven't  the  slightest  desire  to  see  you  now 
or  at  any  other  time,"  said  Stover,  who  closed  the  win 
dow  and  resumed  his  seat,  eyeing  the  clock. 

His  three  friends  exchanged  troubled  glances,  and 
Regan  began  to  whistle  to  himself,  but  no  questions  were 
asked.  At  nine  o'clock  Stover  rose  and  took  his  hat. 

"  I'm  going  out.  I  may  be  back  late,"  he  said,  and 
went  down  the  stairs. 

"  What  the  devil  ?  "  said  Hungerford,  closing  his  book. 

"  He's  in  some  scrape,"  said  Regan  ruthfully. 

"  Oh,  Lord,  and  just  at  this  time,  too,"  said  Story. 

Stover  went  rapidly  towards  the  hospital.  The  girl 
had  been  operated  on  immediately,  and  the  situation  was 
of  the  utmost  seriousness.  He  had  been  told  to  come 
back  at  nine.  When  he  arrived  he  found  Muriel  Stacey 
already  in  the  waiting-room,  her  eyes  heavy  with  fright 
ened  weeping.  He  looked  at  her  curiously.  All  sugges 
tion  of  the  provoking  impertinence  and  the  surface 
allurement  was  gone.  Under  his  eyes  was  nothing  but 
an  ignorant  boor,  stupid  and  hysterical  before  the  awful 
*act  of  death. 

"What's  the  news?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Stover,  I  don't  know.  I  can't  get  anything 
out  of  them,"  the  woman  said  wildly.  "  Oh,  do  you 
think  she's  going  to  die  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not,"  he  said  gruffly.  "  See  here,  where's 
her  family  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 


STOVERATYALE  361 

"Don't  they  live  here?" 

"  They're  in  Ohio  somewhere,  I  think.  I  don't  know. 
Ask  the  doctor,  won't  you,  Mr.  Stover?  He'll  tell  you 
something." 

He  left  her,  and,  making  inquiries,  was  met  by  a  young 
intern,  immaculate  and  alert,  who  was  quite  communica 
tive  to  Dink  Stover  of  the  Yale  eleven. 

"  She's  had  a  bad  case  of  it ;  appendix  had  already 
burst.  You  got  her  here  just  in  time." 

"What's  the  outlook?" 

"  Can't  tell.  She  came  out  of  the  anaesthetic  all  right." 
He  went  into  a  technical  discussion  of  the  dangers  of 
blood  poisoning,  concluding:  "Still,  I  should  say  her 
chances  were  good.  It  depends  a  good  deal  on  the  re 
sistance.  However,  I  think  your  friend's  family  ought 
to  be  notified." 

Stover  did  not  notice  the  "  your  friend,"  nor  the  look 
which  the  doctor  gave  him. 

"  She's  here  alone  as  far  as  I  can  find  out,"  he  said. 
"  Poor  little  devil.  I'll  call  round  about  midnight." 

"  No  need,"  said  the  doctor  briskly,  "  nothing'll  de 
velop  before  to-morrow." 

Stover  sent  the  waiting  girl  home  somewhat  tran- 
quilized,  and,  finding  a  florist's  shop  open,  left  an  order 
to  be  sent  in  to  the  patient  the  first  thing  in  the  morning. 
Then,  thoroughly  exhausted  by  his  sudden  contact  with 
all  the  nervous  fates  of  the  hospital,  he  walked  home  and 
heavily  to  bed. 

The  next  morning  as  he  went  to  his  eating-joint  with 
Regan  and  Hungerford,  the  newsboy,  who  had  his  papers 
ready,  gave  them  to  him  with  a  hesitating  look.  All  at 
once  Joe  Hungerford  swore  mightily. 

"  Now  what's  wrong,  Joe  ?  "  said  Regan  in  surprise. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Hungerford  hastily,  but  almost  im- 


362  STOVER    AT    YALE 

mediately  he  stopped,  and  said  in  a  jerky,  worried  way: 
"  Say,  here's  the  devil  to  pay,  Dink.  I  suppose  you 
ought  to  know  about  it.  Damn  the  papers." 

With  his  finger  he  indicated  a  space  on  the  front  page 
of  the  New  York  newspaper  he  was  reading.  Stover 
took  it,  reading  it  seriously.  It  was  only  a  paragraph, 
but  it  rose  from  the  page  as  though  it  were  stamped  in 
scarlet. 

DINK  STOVER'S  LARK 
ENDS  SERIOUSLY. 

Below  followed  in  suggestive  detail  an  account  of  the 
drive  with  friends  "  not  exactly  in  recognized  New 
Haven  society,"  and  the  sudden  seizure  of  Miss  Fanny 
Le  Roy,  with  an  account  of  his  drive  back  to  the  hospital. 

"That's  pretty  bad,"  he  said,  frowning.  "What  do 
the  others  say?" 

One  paper  had  it  that  his  presence  of  mind  and  prompt 
action  had  saved  the  girl's  life.  The  third  one  hinted 
that  the  party  had  been  rather  gay,  and  said  in  a  short 
sentence : 

"It  is  said  other  students  were  with  young  Stover, 
who  prefer  not  to  incur  any  unnecessary  notoriety." 

"  It  looks  ugly,"  said  Stover  grimly. 

"  Who  was  with  you  ?  "  said  Hungerf ord  anxiously. 

"  I  prefer  not  to  tell." 

:t  Troutman  and  Schley,  of  course,"  said  Regan  sud 
denly,  and,  starting  out  of  his  usual  imperturbability,  he 
began  to  revile  them. 

"  But,  Dink,  old  man,"  said  Hungerford,  drawing  his 
arm  through  his,  "  how  the  deuce  did  you  ever  get  into 
it?" 

"  Well,  Joe,  what's  the  use  of  explanations  ? "  said 


STOVERATYALE  363 

Stover  gloomily.  "  Every  one'll  believe  what  they  want 
to.  It's  a  thoroughly  nasty  mess.  It's  my  luck,  that's 
all." 

"  Is  that  all  you  can  say?  "  said  Hungerford  anxiously. 

"  All  just  now.     I  don't  feel  particularly  affable,  Joe." 

The  walk  from  his  eating- joint  to  the  chapel  was  per 
haps  the  most  difficult  thing  he  had  ever  done.  Every 
one  was  reading  the  news,  commenting  on  it,  as  he  passed 
along,  red,  proud,  and  angry.  He  felt  the  fire  of  amazed 
glances,  the  lower  classmen  looking  up  at  the  big  man  of 
the  junior  class  in  disgrace,  his  own  friends  puzzled  and 
uncomprehending. 

At  the  fences  there  was  an  excited  buzz,  which  dropped 
perceptibly  as  he  passed.  Regan  was  at  one  side,  Hun 
gerford  loyally  on  the  other.  At  the  junior  fence  Bob 
Story,  who  had  just  got  the  report,  came  out  hurriedly 
to  him. 

"  I  say,  Dink,  it  —  it  isn't  true  ?  "  he  said.  "  Some 
thing's  wrong  —  must  be !  " 

"  Not  very  far  wrong,"  said  Stover.  He  saw  the  in 
credulity  in  Bob's  face,  and  it  hurt  him  more  than  all  the 
rest. 

"  Even  Bob  thinks  I'm  that  sort,  that  I've  been  doing 
things  on  the  sly  I  wouldn't  stand  for  in  public.  And 
if  he  thinks  it,  what'll  others  think?  " 

"  Shut  up,  Bob,"  he  heard  Regan  say.  "  It  may  look 
a  nasty  mess,  and  Dink  may  not  tell  the  real  story,  but 
one  thing  I  know,  he  didn't  scuttle  off  like  a  scut,  but 
faced  the  music,  and  that's  all  I  want  to  know." 

Stover  laughed,  a  short,  nervous,  utterly  illogical 
laugh,  defiant  and  stubborn.  He  would  never  tell  what 
had  happened  —  let  those  who  wanted  to  misjudge  him. 

Several  men  in  his  class  —  he  remembered  them  ever 
after  —  came  up  and  patted  him  on  the  back,  one  or  two 


STOVER    AT    YALE 

avoided  him.  Then  he  had  to  go  by  the  senior  fence 
into  chapel  with  every  eye  upon  him,  watching  how  he 
bore  the  scandal.  He  knew  he  was  red  and  uncom 
fortable,  that  on  his  face  was  something  like  a  sneer. 
He  knew  that  what  every  one  was  saying  under  his 
voice  was  that  it  was  hard  luck,  damned  hard  luck,  that 
it  was  a  rotten  scandal,  and  that  Stover's  chances  for 
Skull  and  Bones  were  knocked  higher  than  a  kite. 

Then  something  happened  that  almost  upset  him.  In 
the  press  about  the  chapel  doors  he  suddenly  saw  Le 
Baron's  tall  figure  across  the  scrambling  mass.  Their 
glances  met  and  with  a  little  solemnity  Le  Baron  raised 
his  hat.  He  understood;  they  might  be  enemies  to  the 
end  of  their  days,  but  the  hat  had  been  raised  as  the 
tribute  of  a  man  to  a  man.  Once  in  his  seat  he  looked 
about  with  a  little  scorn  —  Troutman  and  Schley  were 
not  there. 

After  first  recitation  he  went  directly  to  the  hospital, 
stubbornly  resolved  to  give  no  explanations,  stubbornly 
resolved  in  his  own  knowledge  of  his  right  to  affront 
public  opinion  in  any  way  he  chose.  The  news  he  re 
ceived  was  reassuring,  the  girl  was  out  of  danger. 
Muriel  Stacey  not  yet  arrived,  for  which  he  was  phys 
ically  thankful. 

He  returned  to  his  rooms,  traversing  the  difficult 
campus  with  erect  head. 

"  Now,  boy,  see  here,"  said  Hungerford,  when  he  had 
climbed  the  stairs,  "  I  want  this  out  with  you.  What  did 
happen,  and  who  ran  away  ?  " 

"  You've  got  the  story  in  the  papers,  haven't  you  ?  " 
said  Stover  wearily.  "  The  New  Haven  ones  have  in  a 
couple  of  columns  and  my  photograph." 

"Is  that  all,  Dink,  you're  going  to  tell  me?" 

"  Yes." 


STOVE  R   AT    YALE  365 

"Is  that  all  you're  going  to  let  Jean  Story  know?" 
said  Hungerford  boldly. 

Stover  winced. 

"  Damn  you,  Joe !  " 

"Is  it?" 

"  She'll  have  to  believe  what  she  wants  to  about  me," 
said  Stover  slowly.  "  It's  a  test." 

"  No,  it  isn't  a  test  or  a  fair  test,"  said  Hungerford 
hotly.  "  I  know  everything's  all  right,  boy,  but  I  want 
to  stop  anything  that  might  he  said.  You're  hurt  now 
because  you  know  you're  misjudged." 

"  Yes,  I  am  hurt." 

"  Sure ;  a  rotten  bit  of  luck  has  put  you  in  a  false  posi 
tion.  That's  the  whole  matter." 

"  Joe,  I  won't  tell  you,"  said  Stover  shortly.  "  I  am 
mad  clear  through  and  through.  I'm  going  to  shut  up 
on  the  whole  business.  If  my  friends  misjudge  me  — 
so  much  the  worse  for  them.  If  some  one  else — "  He 
stopped,  flung  his  hat  on  the  couch,  and  sat  down  at  the 
desk.  "What's  the  lesson?" 

But  at  this  moment  Regan  and  Story  came  in,  bolting 
the  door. 

"  Well,  we've  got  the  truth,"  said  Story.  He  came 
over  and  laid  his  hand  on  Dink's  shoulder. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Tom  and  I  have  had  it  out  with  Schley  and  Trout- 
man.  They've  told  the  whole  thing,  the  miserable  little 
curs."  His  voice  shook.  "  You're  all  right,  Dink ;  you 
always  were,  but  it's  a  shame  —  a  damn  shame !  " 

"  Oh,  well,  they  lost  their  nerve,"  said  Stover  heavily. 

"  Why  the  devil  didn't  you  tell  us  last  night?  " 

"What  was  the  use?" 

"  We  could  have  stopped  its  getting  into  the  papers, 
or  had  it  right." 


366  STOVERATYALE 

"  Well  —  it  all  comes  down  to  a  question  of  luck  some 
times,"  said  Stover.  "  I  was  just  as  responsible  as  they 
were  —  it  was  only  fooling,  but  there's  the  chance." 

"  Dink,  I've  done  one  thing  you  may  not  like." 

"What's  that?" 

"  I've  written  the  whole  story  to  your  folks  at  home  — • 
sent  it  off." 

"  No  —  I  don't  mind  —  I  —  that  was  rather  white  of 
you,  Bob  —  thank  you,"  said  Stover.  He  drew  a  long 
breath,  went  to  the  window  and  controlled  himself. 
"  What  are  Troutman  and  Schley  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  They're  all  broken  up,"  said  Story. 

"  Don't  wonder." 

"  They  won't  face  it  out  very  long,"  said  Regan,  with 
out  pity. 

"  Well,  it  was  a  pretty  hard  test,"  said  Stover,  coming 
back  —  and  by  that  alone  they  knew  what  it  had  meant 
to  him. 

Despite  the  giving  out  of  the  true  story,  the  atmos 
phere  of  scandal  still  clung  to  the  adventure.  His 
friends  rallied  stanchly  to  him,  but  from  many  quarters 
Stover  felt  the  attitude  of  criticism,  and  that  the  thing 
had  been  too  public  not  to  affect  the  judgment  of  the( 
senior  societies,  already  none  too  well  disposed  toward 
him. 

Stover  was  sensitively  proud,  and  the  thought  of  how 
the  story  had  traveled  with  all  its  implications  wounded 
him  keenly.  He  had  done  nothing  wrong,  nothing  for 
which  he  had  to  blush.  He  had  simply  acted  as  a  human 
being,  as  any  decent  gentleman  would  have  acted,  and 
yet  by  a  malignant  turn  of  fate  he  was  blackguarded  to 
the  outer  world,  and  had  given  his  enemies  in  college  a 
chance  to  imply  that  he  had  two  attitudes  —  in  public  and 
in  secret. 


STOVERATYALE  367 

The  next  morning  came  a  note  to  him  from  Jean  Story, 
the  first  he  had  ever  had  from  her  —  just  a  few  lines. 

"My  Dear  Friend: 

"  You  are  coming  in  soon  to  see  me,  aren't  you  ?  I 
shall  be  very  much  honored. 

"  Most  cordially, 

"JEAN  STORY." 

The  note  brought  a  great  lump  to  his  throat.  He 
understood  what  she  wished  him  to  understand,  her 
loyalty  and  her  pride  in  his  courage.  He  read  it  over 
and  over,  and  placed  it  in  his  pocket-book  to  carry  al 
ways  —  but  he  did  not  go  at  once  to  see  her.  He  did 
not  want  sympathy;  he  shunned  the  very  thought.  Be 
fore,  in  his  revolt,  he  had  come  against  a  college  tradition, 
now  he  was  face  to  face  with  a  social  prejudice,  and  it 
brought  an  indignant  bitterness. 

He  called  every  day  at  the  hospital;  out  of  sheer 
bravado  at  first,  furious  at  the  public  opinion  that  would 
have  him  go  his  way  and  ignore  a  human  being  alone  and 
suffering,  even  when  his  motives  were  pure. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  he  was  told  that  the  girl  wanted 
to  see  him.  He  found  her  in  a  cot  among  a  row  of  other 
cots.  She  was  not  white  and  drawn  as  he  had  expected, 
but  with  a  certain  flush  of  color  in  her  face,  and  lazy 
eyes  that  eagerly  waited  his  coming.  When  he  had  ap 
proached,  surprised  and  a  little  troubled  at  her  pretti- 
ness,  she  looked  at  him  steadily  a  long  moment  until  he 
felt  almost  embarrassed.  Then  suddenly  she  took  his 
hand  and  carried  it  to  her  lips,  and  her  eyes  overflowed 
with  tears,  as  an  invalid's  do  with  the  strength  of  any 
emotion.  » 

The  nurse  motioned  him  away,  and  he  went,  troubled 


368  STOVER    AT    YALE 

at  what  his  boyish  eyes  had  seen,  and  the  touch  of.  her 
lips  on  his  hand. 

"  By  George,  she  can't  be  very  bad,"  he  thought. 
"  Poor  little  girl ;  she's  probably  never  had  half  a  chance. 
What  the  devil  will  become  of  her  ?  " 

He  knew  nothing  of  her  life  —  he  did  not  want  to 
know. 

When  she  left  the  hospital  at  last  he  continued  to  see 
her,  always  saying  to  himself  that  there  was  no  harm  in 
it,  concealing  from  himself  the  pleasure  it  gave  him  to 
know  himself  adored. 

She  would  never  tell  him  where  she  lived,  always  giv 
ing  him  a  rendezvous  on  a  certain  corner,  from  which 
they  would  take  a  walk  for  an  hour  or  so.  Guessing 
his  desires,  she  began  to  change  her  method  of  dress, 
leaving  aside  the  artifices,  taking  to  simple  and  sober 
dress,  which  brought  a  curious,  girlish,  counterfeit  charm. 

"  I  am  doing  her  good,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  It  means 
something  to  her  to  meet  some  one  who  treats  her  with 
respect  —  like  a  human  being  —  poor  little  girl." 

He  did  not  realize  how  often  he  met  her,  leaving  his 
troubled  room-mates  with  a  curt  excuse,  nor  how  rapid- 
ily  he  consumed  the  distance  to  their  meeting  place.  He 
had  talked  to  her  at  first  seriously  of  serious  things,  then 
gradually,  laughing  in  a  boyish  way,  half  tempted,  he 
began  to  pay  her  compliments.  At  first  she  laughed  with 
a  little  pleasure,  but,  as  the  new  attitude  continued,  he 
felt  her  eyes  on  his  face  constantly  in  anxious,  wistful 
scrutiny. 

One  night  she  did  not  keep  her  appointment.  He 
waited  troubled,  then  furious.  He  left  after  an  hour's 
lingering,  irritable  and  aroused. 

The  next  night  as  he  approached  impatiently,  half 
afraid,  she  was  already  at  the  lamp-post. 


STOVERATYALE  369 

"I  waited  an  hour,"  he  said  directly. 

"  I'm  sorry ;  I  couldn't  come,"  she  answered  troubled, 
but  without  volunteering  an  explanation. 

"  Why  ?  "  he  said  with  a  new  irritation. 

"  I  couldn't,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head. 

He  felt  all  at  once  a  new  impulse  in  him  —  to  wound 
her  in  some  way  and  make  her  suffer  a  little  for  the 
disappointment  he  had  had  to  undergo  the  night  be 
fore. 

"  You  did  it  on  purpose,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said  frowning. 

"  You  did."  Then  suddenly  he  added :  "  That's  why 
you  stayed  away  —  to  make  me  jealous." 

"  Never." 

"Why,  then?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you,"  she  said. 

They  walked  along  in  silence.  Her  resistance  in  with 
holding  the  information  suddenly  made  her  desirable. 
He  wondered  what  he  might  do  with  her.  As  they 
walked  still  in  silence,  he  put  out  his  hand,  and  his  fingers 
closed  over  hers.  She  did  not  draw  them  away.  He 
gave  a  deep  breath  and  said : 

"  I  would  like  — " 

"  What  ?  "  she  said,  looking  up  as  his  pressure  made 
her  face  him. 

He  put  out  his  arms  and  took  her  in  them,  and  stood 
a  long  moment,  looking  at  her  lips. 

"  Forgive  me  —  I  — "  he  said,  stepping  back  suddenly. 
"I  —  I  didn't  mean  to  offend  you." 

"  No  —  you  couldn't  do  that  —  never,"  she  said 
quietly. 

"  You  —  you're  so  pretty  to-night  —  I  couldn't  help 
it,"  he  said.  To  himself  he  vowed  he  would  never  let 
himself  be  tempted  again  —  not  that  night. 


370  STOVER    AT    YALE 

"  I'm  going  to  take  you  to  your  home,"  he  said,  when 
after  small  conversation  they  returned. 

"  Sure." 

He  was  surprised  and  delighted  at  this,  but  almost 
immediately  to  be  generous  he  said : 

"  No,  no,  I  won't." 

"  I  don't  care." 

They  had  reached  their  corner. 

"  To-morrow." 

"  Yes." 

"  At  eight." 

"  Yes." 

He  resisted  a  great  temptation,  and  offered  his  hand. 
She  took  it  suddenly  in  both  of  hers  and  brought  it  to 
her  lips  as  she  had  done  in  the  hospital. 

"  You've  been  white,  awful  white  to  me,"  she  said,  and 
flitted  away  into  the  engulfing  night. 

When  he  left  her,  her  words  came  back  to  him,  and 
brought  an  unrest.  He  had  almost  yielded  to  what  he 
had  vowed  never  to  do,  he,  who  only  wanted  her  to  feel 
his  respect.  Yet  the  next  day  seemed  endless.  He  re 
gretted  that  he  had  not  gone  to  where  she  lived,  for  then 
he  could  have  found  her  in  the  afternoon. 

A  shower  passed  during  the  day,  leaving  the  streets 
moist  and  luminous  with  long  lances  of  light  and  star 
points  on  the  wet  stones.  He  went  breathlessly  as  he 
had  never  gone  before,  a  little  troubled,  always  reasoning 
with  his  conscience. 

"  It  was  only  a  crazy  spell,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I 
don't  know  what  got  into  me.  I'll  be  careful,  now." 

When  he  reached  the  lamp-post  another  figure  was 
there,  Muriel  Stacey,  painted  and  over-dressed,  and  in 
her  hand  was  a  white  letter,  that  he  saw  half-way  up  the 
block.  He  stopped  short,  frowning. 


STOVER    AT    YALE  371 

"Where's  Fanny?" 

"  Here's  a  note  she  sent  you,"  said  the  girl ;  "  she's 
gone." 

"Gone?" 

"  This  morning." 

He  looked  at  the  envelope ;  his  name  was  written  there 
in  a  childish,  struggling  hand. 

"  All  right ;  thank  you,"  he  said  suffocating.  He  left 
hurriedly,  physically  uncomfortable  in  the  presence  of 
Muriel  Stacey,  her  friend.  At  the  first  lamp-post  he 
stopped,  broke  the  envelope,  and  read  the  awkward, 
painfully  written  script. 

"  I'm  going  away,  it's  best  for  you  and  me  I  know  it. 
Guess  I  would  care  too  much  and  I'm  not  good  enough 
for  you.  Don't  you  be  angry  with  me.  Good  luck. 
God  bless  you. 

"  F." 

He  slipped  it  hurriedly  in  his  pocket,  and  set  off  at  a 
wild  pace.  And  suddenly  his  conscience,  his  accusing 
conscience,  rose  up.  He  saw  where  he  had  been  going. 
It  brought  him  a  solemn  moment.  Then  he  remembered 
the  girl.  He  took  the  letter  from  his  pocket  and  held 
it  clutched  like  a  hand  in  his  hand. 

"  Good  God,"  he  said,  "  I  wonder  what'll  become  of 
her?" 

He  had  found  so  much  good  that  the  tragedy  revolted 
him.  So  he  went  through  the  busy  streets  with  their 
flare  and  ceaseless  motion,  in  the  wet  of  the  night,  watch 
ing  with  solemn,  melancholy  eyes,  other  women  pass 
with  sidelong  glances.  All  the  horror  and  the  hopeless 
ness  of  a  life  he  could  not  better  thronged  over  him,  and 
he  stood  a  long  while  looking  down  the  great  bleak  ways, 
through  the  gates  that  it  is  better  not  to  pry  ajar. 


372  STOVERATYALE 

Then  in  a  revulsion  of  feeling,  terrified  at  what  he 
divined,  he  left  and  went,  almost  in  an  instinct  for  pro 
tection,  hurriedly  to  the  Story  home,  white  and  peaceful 
under  the  elms.  He  did  not  go  in,  but  he  stood  a  little 
while  opposite,  looking  in  through  the  warm  windows  at 
the  serenity  and  the  security  that  seemed  to  permeate 
the  place. 

When  he  returned  to  his  rooms,  Joe  and  Regan  were 
there.  He  sat  down  directly  and  told  them  the  whole 
story,  showing  them  her  letter. 

"  She  went  away  —  for  my  sake,"  he  said.  "  I  know 
it.  Poor  little  devil.  It's  a  letter  I'll  always  keep." 
Solemnly,  looking  at  the  letter,  he  resolved  to  put  this 
with  the  one,  the  first  from  Jean  Story,  and  reverently 
he  felt  that  the  two  had  the  right  to  be  joined. 

"What's  terrible  about  it,"  he  said,  talking  out  his 
soul,  "  is  that  there's  so  much  good  in  them.  And  yet 
what  can  you  do?  They're  human,  they  respond,  you 
can't  help  pitying  them  —  wanting  to  be  decent,  to  help 
—  and  you  can't.  It's  terrible  to  think  that  there  are 
certain  doors  in  life  you  open  and  close,  that  you  must 
turn  your  back  on  human  lives  sometimes,  that  things 
can't  be  changed.  Lord,  but  it's  a  terrible  thing  to 
realize." 

He  stopped,  and  he  heard  Regan's  voice,  moved  as  he 
had  never  heard  it,  say : 

"  That's  my  story  —  only  /  married." 

Suddenly,  as  though  realizing  for  the  first  time  what 
he  had  said,  he  burst  out :  "  Good  God,  I  never  meant 
to  tell.  See  here,  you  men,  that's  sacred  —  you  under 
stand." 

And  Dink  and  Joe,  looking  on  his  face,  realized  all  at 
once  why  a  certain  gentler  side  of  life  was  shut  out  to 
him,  and  why  he  had  never  gone  to  the  Storys'. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

ONE  result  of  Stover's  sobering  experience  witK 
Fanny  Le  Roy  was  that  he  met  the  problem  of  the 
senior  elections  with  directness  and  honesty.  What 
Brockhurst  had  said  of  the  injurious  effect  of  secrecy 
and  ceremony  on  the  imagination  had  always  been  with 
him.  Yet  in  his  desire  to  stand  high  in  the  eyes  of  Jean 
Story,  to  win  the  honors  she  prized,  he  had  quibbled 
over  the  question.  Now  the  glimpse  he  had  had  into 
the  inscrutable  verities  of  human  tragedy  had  all  at  once 
lifted  him  above  the  importance  of  local  standards,  and 
left  him  with  but  one  desire  —  to  be  true  to  himself. 

The  tests  that  had  come  to  him  in  his  college  life  had 
brought  with  them  a  maturity  of  view  beyond  that  of  his 
fellows.  Now  that  he  seriously  debated  the  ques 
tion,  he  said  to  himself  that  he  saw  great  evils  in  the 
system :  that  on  the  average  intelligence  this  thraldom  to 
formula  and  awe  at  the  assumption  of  mystery  had  unde 
niably  a  narrowing  effect,  unworthy  of  a  great  university 
dedicated  to  liberty  of  thought  and  action.  He  saw  that 
while  certain  individuals,  such  as  Hungerford  and 
Regan,  laughed  at  the  bugbear  of  secrecy,  and  went  their 
way  unconcerned,  a  great  number,  more  impressionable, 
had  been  ruled  from  the  beginning  by  fear  alone. 

With  the  aims  and  purposes  of  Skull  and  Bones 
he  was  in  thorough  sympathy  —  their  independence  of 
judgment,  their  seeking  out  of  men  who  had  to  contend 
with  poverty,  their  desire  to  reward  ambition  and  indus 
try  and  character  —  but  the  more  he  freely  acknowl- 

373 


374  STOVER    AT    YALE 

edged  their  influence  for  democracy  and  simplicity  at 
Yale,  the  more  he  revolted  at  the  unnecessary  fetish  of 
it  all. 

"  They  should  command  respect  and  not  fear.  By 
George,  that's  where  I  stand.  All  this  rigmarole  is 
ridiculous,  and  it's  ridiculous  that  it  ever  affected  me; 
it  is  of  the  middle  ages  —  outgrown." 

Then  a  problem  placed  itself  before  him.  Admitting 
that  he  had  even  the  ghost  of  a  chance  of  being  tapped, 
ought  he  to  go  into  a  senior  society  feeling  as  he  did 
about  so  many  of  its  observances,  secretly  resolved  on 
their  elimination?  Finally,  a  week  before  Tap  Day,  he 
decided  to  go  to  Judge  Story  and  frankly  state  his  case, 
letting  him  know  that  he  preferred  thus  to  give  notice  of 
his  beliefs. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  Story  home  the  Judge  was 
upstairs  in  his  study.  Jean,  alone  in  the  parlor,  looked 
up  in  surprise  at  his  expressed  intention  to  see  her 
father.  Since  her  letter  they  had  never  been  alone. 
Stover  had  avoided  it  with  his  shrinking  from  sympathy, 
and,  perhaps  guessing  his  temperament,  she  had  made 
no  attempt  to  go  beyond  the  safe  boundaries  of  formal 
intercourse. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Dad's  upstairs,"  she  said.  Then  she 
added  a  little  anxiously :  "  You  look  serious  —  is  it  a 
very  serious  matter  ?  " 

He  hesitated,  knowing  instinctively  that  she  would 
oppose  him. 

"  It's  something  that's  been  on  my  mind  for  a  long 
time,"  he  said  evasively;  and  he  added  with  a  smile, 
"  It's  what  you  call  my  Quixotic  fit." 

"  It's  about  Skull  and  Bones,"  she  said  instantly. 

"  Yes,  it  is." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  say  ?  " 


STOVER   AT    YALE  375 

"  I'm  going  to  tell  him  just  where  I  stand  —  just  what 
I've  come  to  believe  about  the  whole  business." 

"And  what's  that?" 

"  That  Skull  and  Bones,  which  does  a  great  good  here 
—  I  believe  it  —  also  does  a  great  deal  of  harm ;  all  of 
which  is  unnecessary  and  a  weakness  in  its  system.  In 
a  word,  I've  come  to  the  point  where  I  believe  secrecy  is 
un-American,  undemocratic  and  stultifying;  and,  as  I 
say,  totally  unnecessary.  I  should  always  be  against  it." 

"  But  aren't  you  exaggerating  the  importance  of  it 
all  ?  "  she  said  hastily. 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  he  said.  "  I  used  to  silence  myself 
with  that,  but  I  see  the  thing  working  out  too  plainly." 

"  But  why  speak  about  it?  " 

"  Because  I  don't  think  it's  honest  not  to.  Of  course," 
he  added  immediately,  "  I  have  about  one  chance  in  a 
thousand  —  perhaps  that's  why  I'm  so  all-fired  direct 
about  it." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't,"  she  said,  rising  and  coming 
towards  him.  "  It  might  offend  them  terribly ;  you 
never  know." 

He  shook  his  head,  though  her  eagerness  gave  him  a 
sudden  happiness. 

"  No,  I've  thought  it  out  a  long  while,  and  I've  de 
cided.  It  all  goes  back  to  that  sophomore  society  scrap. 
I  made  up  my  mind  then  I  wasn't  going  to  compromise, 
and  I'm  not  now." 

"  But  I  want  to  see  you  go  Bones,"  she  said  illogically, 
in  a  rush.  "  After  all  you've  gone  through,  you  must 
go  Bones ! " 

He  did  not  answer  this. 

"  Oh,  it's  so  unnecessary,"  she  said.  "  No  one  but 
you  would  think  of  it ! " 

"  Don't  be  angry  with  me,"  he  said,  a  little  troubled. 


316  STOVER    AT    YALE 

"  I  am  —  it's  absurd ! "  she  said,  turning  away  with 
a  flash  of  temper. 

"  I'm  sorry/'  he  said,  and  went  up  the  stairs. 

When  he  returned,  after  an  interview  which,  needless 
to  say,  had  somewhat  surprised  the  Judge,  he  found  a 
very  different  Jean  Story.  She  was  waiting  for  him 
quiet  and  subdued,  without  a  trace  of  her  late  irritation. 

"  Did  you  tell  him  ?  "  she  said  gently. 

"  Yes." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  I  didn't  ask  for  an  answer.  I  told  him  how  I  felt, 
and  that  I  would  rather  my  opinions  should  be  known. 
That's  all." 

"  Are  you  going  ? "  she  said,  as  he  made  a  move 
ment. 

"  I  didn't  know  — "  he  said,  hesitating  and  looking  at 
her. 

"  I  am  not  angry,"  she  said  a  little  wistfully.  "  You 
were  quite  right.  I'm  glad  you  did  it.  You  are  much 
bigger  than  I  could  be  —  I  like  that." 

"  You  were  the  first  to  wake  me  up,"  he  said  happily, 
sitting  down. 

"  Yes,  but  you  have  gone  so  far  ahead.  You  do  things 
without  compromise,  and  that  sometimes  frightens  me." 
She  stopped  a  moment,  and  said,  looking  at  him  steadily : 
"  You  have  kept  away  a  long  while.  Now  you  see  you 
are  caught.  You  can't  avoid  being  alone  with  me." 

"  I  don't  want  to,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"  You  are  so  proud,  Dink,"  she  said  softly,  using  his 
nickname  for  the  first  time.  "  I  have  never  seen  any 
one  so  proud.  Everything  you  do  I  think  comes  from 
that.  But  it  must  make  you  suffer  terribly." 

"  Yes,  it  does." 

They  were  in  the  front  parlor,  dimly  lit,  sitting  on  the 


STOVERATYALE  377 

window-seat,  hearing  from  time  to  time  the  passing  chug 
of  horses'  feet. 

"  I  knew  how  it  must  have  hurt  you  —  all  this  pub 
licity,"  she  said  slowly.  "  Why  didn't  you  come  when 
I  wrote  you  ?  Were  you  too  proud  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so  —  and  then  it  didn't  seem  fair  to 
you  —  after  all  the  talk." 

"  I  was  proud  of  you,"  she  said,  raising  her  head  a 
little.  She  put  out  her  hand  again  to  his,  leaving  it  in 
his  for  a  long  time,  while  they  sat  in  silence.  The  touch 
that  once  had  so  disturbed  him  brought  now  only  a  gen 
tle  serenity.  He  thought  of  the  other  woman,  and  what 
might  have  been,  with  almost  a  hatred,  the  hatred  of  man 
towards  whatever  he  wrongs. 

"  You  are  right  about  me,"  he  said  slowly.  "  Most 
people  think  I  don't  care  what  happens,  that  I'm  sort  of 
a  thick-skinned  rhinoceros.  How  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  knew." 

She  withdrew  her  hand  slowly,  without  resistance  on 
his  part;  only  when  he  held  it  no  longer  he  felt  alone, 
abandoned  to  the  blackness  of  the  street  outside. 

"  I've  kept  my  promise  to  you,  Jean,"  he  said  a  little 
unsteadily,  "  but  don't  make  it  too  hard." 

She  rose  and  he  followed.  Together  they  stood  in  the 
shadows  of  the  embrasure,  half  seeing  each  other.  Only 
he  knew  that  her  large  eyes  were  looking  out  at  him  with 
the  look  of  the  woman  that  he  had  first  called  forth  when 
he  had  wounded  the  pride  of  the  girl. 

"  I  am  glad  you  didn't  listen  to  me  just  now,"  she  said 
slowly. 

"When?" 

"  WThen  you  went  upstairs  to  Dad.  You  will  never 
weaken,  I  know."  She  came  a  little  towards  him,  and 
understanding,  he  took  her  gently,  wonderingly,  in  his 


378  STOVERATYALE 

arms.  "  It's  going  to  be  very  hard  for  you,"  she  said, 
"  Tap  Day  —  to  stand  there  and  know  that  you  may  be 
misjudged.  I  should  be  very  proud  to  announce  our 
engagement,  then  —  that  same  day." 

Then  he  knew  that  he  held  in  his  arms  one  who  had 
never  given  so  much  as  her  hand  lightly,  who  came  to 
him  in  unflinching  loyalty,  whose  only  interest  would  be 
his  interest,  who  would  know  no  other  life  but  his  life, 
whose  joy  would  be  the  struggle  that  was  his  struggle. 

Tap  Day  arrived  at  last,  cloudy  and  misty.  He  had 
slept  badly  in  fits  and  starts,  nor  had  the  others  fared 
better,  with  the  exception  of  Regan,  who  had  rumbled 
peacefully  through  the  night  —  but  then  Regan  was  one 
whom  others  sought.  The  morning  was  interminable,  a 
horror.  They  did  not  even  joke  about  the  approaching 
ordeal.  No  one  was  so  sure  of  election  but  that  the  pos 
sible  rejection  of  some  chum  cast  its  gloom  over  the 
day. 

Dink  ran  over  a  moment  after  lunch  with  Bob  for  a 
last  word  with  Jean.  She  was  going  with  her  father 
and  mother  to  see  the  tapping  from  a  window  in  Durfee. 

"  I  shall  only  see  you,"  she  said  to  him,  with  her  hands 
in  his,  and  her  loyal  eyes  shining.  "  I  shall  be  so  proud 
of  the  way  you  take  it." 

"  So  you  think  I  won't  be  tapped,"  he  said  slowly. 

"  It  means  so  little  now,"  she  said.  "  That  can't  add  a 
feather's  weight  to  what  you  are." 

They  went  back  to  their  rooms,  joining  Hungerford 
and  Regan,  who  were  whiling  away  the  time  playing 
piquet. 

"  Here,"  said  Tom  in  relief  when  they  entered,  "  one 
of  you  fellows  keep  Joe  entertained,  the  darn  fool  has 
suddenly  made  up  his  mind  he's  going  to  be  passed  over." 


STOVER   AT    YALE  379 

Regan,  relinquishing  his  place,  went  back  to  his  book. 

"  Why,  Joe,  you  fluffy  ass,"  said  Story  affectionately, 
"  you're  the  surest  of  the  lot.  Shut  up  —  cheer  us  up 
instead." 

"  Look  at  that  mound  of  jelly/'  said  Hunger  ford 
peevishly,  pointing  to  Regan.  "  Has  he  any  nerves  ?  " 

"  What's  the  use  of  fidgeting?  "  said  Regan. 

An  hour  later  Hungerf ord  stretched  his  arm  nervously, 
rose  and  consulted  the  clock. 

"  Four-fifteen ;  let's  hike  over  in  about  twenty  min 
utes." 

"  All  right." 

"  Say,  I  don't  mind  saying  that  I  feel  as  though  I  were 
going  to  be  taken  out,  stuck  full  of  holes,  sawed  up, 
drawn  and  quartered  and  boiled  alive.  I  feel  like  jump 
ing  on  an  express  and  running  away." 

Stover,  remembering  Joe's  keen  suffering  at  the  spec 
tacle  back  in  freshman  year,  said  gravely: 

"  You're  sure,  Joe.  You'll  go  among  the  first.  Come 
back  with  smelling  salts  for  me.  I've  got  to  stand 
through  the  whole  thing  and  grin  like  a  Cheshire  cat  — 
that's  de  rigueur.  Do  you  remember  how  bully  Dudley 
was  when  he  missed  out  ?  Funny  —  then  I  thought  I 
had  a  cinch." 

"  If  it  was  left  to  our  class,  you  would,  Dink,"  said 
Bob. 

"  Thanks." 

Stover  smiled  a  little  at  this  unconscious  avowal  of 
his  own  estimate,  rose,  picked  out  his  favorite  pipe,  and 
said: 

"  I  don't  care  so  much  —  there's  a  reason.  Well,  let's 
get  into  the  mess." 

The  four  went  together,  over  toward  the  junior  fence, 
already  swarming. 


380  STOVERATYALE 

"  Ten  minutes  of  five,"  said  Hungerford,  looking  at 
the  clock  that  each  had  seen. 

"  Yes." 

Some  one  stopped  Stover  to  wish  him  good  luck.  He 
looked  down  on  a  diminutive  figure  in  large  spectacles, 
trying  to  recall,  who  was  saying  to  him : 

"I  —  I  wanted  to  wish  you  the  best." 

"  Oh,  it's  Wookey,"  said  Stover  suddenly.  He  shook 
hands,  rather  troubled.  "  Well,  boy,  there's  not  much 
chance  for  me." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  so." 

"  Thanks  just  the  same." 

"  Hello,  Dink,  old  fellow." 

"  Put  her  there." 

"  You  know  what  we  all  want  ?  " 

He  was  in  another  group,  patted  on  the  back,  his  arm 
squeezed,  listening  to  the  welcome  loyalty  of  those  who 
knew  him. 

"  Lord,  if  they'd  only  have  sense  enough." 

He  smiled  and  made  his  way  towards  his  three  friends, 
exchanging  salutations. 

"  Luck,  Dink." 

"  Same  to  you,  Tommy  Bain." 

"  Here's  wishing." 

"  Back  to  you,  Dopey." 

"  You've  got  my  vote." 

"  Thanks." 

He  joined  his  room-mates  under  the  tree,  looking  over 
the  heads  to  the  windows  of  Durfee  where  he  saw  Jean 
Story  with  her  father  and  mother.  Presently,  seeking 
everywhere,  she  saw  him.  Their  eyes  met,  he  lifted  his 
cap,  she  nodded  slightly.  From  that  moment  he  knew 
she  would  see  no  one  else. 

"  Let's  keep  together,"  said  Regan.     "  Lock  arms." 


STOVER    AT    YALE  381 

The  four  stood  close  together,  arms  gripped,  resisting 
the  press  that  crushed  them  together,  speaking  no  more, 
hearing  about  them  the  curious  babble  of  the  under 
classmen. 

"  That's  Regan." 

"  Story'll  go  first." 

"  Stand  here." 

"  This  is  the  spot." 

"  Lord,  they  look  solemn  enough." 

"  Almost  time." 

"  Get  your  watch  out." 

"  Fifteen  seconds  more." 

"  Five,  four,  three,  two  — " 

"Boom!" 

Above  their  heads  the  chapel  bell  broke  over  them  with 
its  five  decisive  strokes,  swallowed  up  in  the  roar  of  the 
college. 

"Yeal" 

11  Here  he  comes !  " 

"  First  man  for  Bones !  " 

"Reynolds!" 

From  where  he  stood  Stover  could  see  nothing.  Only 
the  travelling  roar  of  the  crowd  told  of  the  coming 
seniors.  Then  there  was  a  stir  in  the  crowd  near  him, 
and  Reynolds,  in  black  derby,  came  directly  for  them; 
pushed  them  aside,  and  suddenly  slapped  some  one  be 
hind. 

A  roar  went  up  again. 

"  Who  was  it  ?  "  said  Story  quickly. 

"  Hunter,  Jim  Hunter." 

The  next  moment  Hunter,  white  as  a  sheet,  bumped 
at  his  side  and  passed,  followed  by  Reynolds;  down  the 
convulsive  lane  the  crowd  opened  to  him. 

Roar  followed  roar,  and  reports  came  thick. 


382  STOVERATYALE 

"  Stone's  gone  Keys." 

"  Three  Wolf's-Head  men  in  the  crowd." 

"  McNab  gets  Keys." 

"Hooray!" 

"  Dopey's  tapped !  " 

"  Bully." 

"  Wiggins  fourth  man  for  Bones." 

Still  no  one  came  their  way.  Then  all  at  once  a  Bones 
man,  wandering  in  the  crowd,  came  up  behind  Bob 
Story,  caught  him  by  the  shoulders,  swung  him  around 
to  make  sure,  and  gave  him  the  slap. 

Regan's,  Hungerford's,  and  Stover's  voices  rose  above 
the  uproar: 

"Bully,  Bob!" 

"Good  work!" 

"  Hooray  for  you !  " 

Almost  immediately  Regan  received  the  eighth  tap  for 
Bones,  and  went  for  his  room  amidst  the  thundering 
cheers  of  a  popular  choice. 

"  Well,  here  we  are,  Dink,"  said  Hungerford. 

"  You're  next." 

About  them  the  curious  spectators  pressed,  staring  up 
into  their  faces  for  any  sign  of  emotion,  struggling  to 
reach  them,  with  the  dramatic  instinct  of  the  crowd. 
Four  more  elections  were  given  out  by  Bones  —  only 
three  places  remained. 

"  That  settles  me,"  said  Stover  between  his  teeth. 
"  If  they  wanted  me,  I'd  gone  among  the  first.  Joe's  go 
ing  to  get  last  place  —  bully  for  him.  He's  the  best 
fellow  in  the  class." 

He  folded  his  arms  and  smiled  with  the  consciousness 
of  a  decision  accepted.  He  saw  Hungerford's  face,  and 
the  agony  of  suspense  to  his  sensitive  nerves. 


STOVER    AT    YALE  383 

"  Cheer  up,  Joe,  it's  last  place  for  you." 

Then  another  shout. 

"  Bones  or  Keys  ?  "  he  asked  of  those  around  him. 

"  Bones." 

"  Charley  Stacey." 

"  Thirteenth  man." 

"  I  was  sure  of  it,"  he  said  calmly  to  himself.  Then 
he  glanced  up  at  the  window.  Her  eyes  had  never  left 
him.  He  straightened  up  with  a  new  defiance.  "  Lord, 
I'd  like  to  have  gotten  it,  just  for  Jean.  Well,  I  knocked 
against  too  many  heads.  I  don't  wonder." 

Suddenly  Hungerford  caught  his  hand  underneath  the 
crowd,  pressing  it  unseen. 

"  Last  man  for  Bones  now,  Dink,"  he  said,  looking 
in  his  eyes.  "  I  hope  to  God  it's  you." 

"  Why,  you  old  chump,"  said  Stover  laughing,  so  all 
heard  him.  "  Bless  your  heart,  I  don't  mind.  Here's 
to  you." 

Above  the  broken,  fitful  cheers,  suddenly  came  a  last 
swelling  roar. 

"  Bones." 

"  Last  man." 

The  crowd,  as  though  divining  the  election,  divided  a 
path  towards  where  the  two  friends  waited,  Hungerford 
staring  blankly,  Stover,  arms  still  folded,  waiting  stead 
ily  with  a  smile  of  acceptation  on  his  lips. 

It  was  Le  Baron.  He  came  like  a  black  tornado, 
rushing  over  the  ground  straight  toward  the  tree.  Once 
some  one  stumbled  into  his  path,  and  he  caught  him  and 
flung  him  aside.  Straight  to  the  two  he  came,  never 
deviating,  straight  past  Dink  Stover,  and  suddenly 
switching  around  almost  knocked  him  to  the  ground 
with  the  crash  of  his  blow. 


384  STOVER    AT    YALE 

"  Go  to  your  room !  " 

It  was  a  shout  of  electrifying  drama,  the  voice  of  his 
society  speaking  to  the  college. 

Some  one  caught  Stover.  He  straightened  up,  trying 
to  collect  his  wits,  utterly  unprepared  for  the  shock. 
About  him  pandemonium  broke  loose.  Still  dazed,  he 
felt  Hungerford  leap  at  him,  crying  in  his  ears  : 

"  God  bless  you,  old  man.  It's  great,  great  —  they 
rose  to  it.  It's  the  finest  ever !  " 

He  began  to  move  mechanically  towards  his  room, 
seeing  nothing,  hearing  nothing.  He  started  towards 
the  library,  and  some  one  swung  him  around.  He  heard 
them  cheering,  then  he  saw  hundreds  of  faces,  wild-eyed, 
rushing  past  him;  he  stumbled  and  suddenly  his  eyes 
were  blurred  with  tears,  and  he  knew  how  much  he 
cared,  after  the  long  months  of  rebellion,  to  be  no  longer 
an  outsider,  but  back  among  his  own  with  the  stamp  of 
approval  on  his  record. 

The  last  thing  he  remembered  through  his  swimming 
vision  was  Joe  Hungerford,  hatless  and  swinging  his 
arms  as  though  he  had  gone  crazy,  leading  a  cheer,  and 
the  cheer  was  for  Bones. 

That  night,  even  before  he  went  to  the  Storys',  Stover 
went  out  arm  in  arm  with  Hungerford,  across  the  quiet 
campus,  so  removed  from  the  fray  of  the  afternoon. 

"  Joe,  it  breaks  me  all  up,"  he  said  at  last.  "  You  and 
I  waiting  there — " 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  old  fellow,"  said  Hungerford. 
"  Now  let  me  talk.  I  did  want  to  make  it,  but,  by 
George,  I  know  now  it's  better  I  didn't.  I've  had  every 
thing  I  wanted  in  this  world;  this  is  the  first  I  couldn't 
get.  It's  better  for  me;  I  know  it  already." 

"You  were  clean  grit,  Joe,  cheering  for  Bones." 


STOVERATYALE  385 

"  By  George,  I  meant  it.  It  meant  something  to  feel 
they  could  rise  up  and  know  a  man,  and  you've  hit  pretty 
close  to  them,  old  boy." 

"  Yes,  I  have,  but  I've  believed  it." 

"  It  shows  the  stuff  that's  here,"  said  Hungerford, 
"  when  you  once  can  get  to  it.  Now  I  take  off  my  hat  to 
them.  I  only  hope  you  can  make  your  influence  felt." 

"  I'm  going  to  try,"  said  Stover  solemnly.  "  The 
thing  is  so  big  a  thing  that  it  ought  not  to  be  hampered 
by  bug-a-boo  methods." 

Brockhurst  joined  them. 

"  Well,  the  smoke's  rolled  away,"  said  Brockhurst, 
who  likewise  had  missed  out.  "  It's  over  —  all  over. 
Now  we'll  settle  down  to  peace  and  quiet  —  relax." 

"  The  best  time's  coming,"  said  Hungerford.  "  We'll 
live  as  we  please,  and  really  enjoy  life.  It's  the  real 
time,  every  one  says  so." 

"  Yes,"  said  Brockhurst,  rebel  to  the  last,  "  but  why 
couldn't  it  come  before,  why  couldn't  it  be  so  the  whole 
four  years  ?  " 

"  Well,  now,  old  croaker,"  said  Hungerford  with  a 
little  heat,  "own  up  the  old  college  comes  up  to  the 
scratch.  We've  surrendered  the  sophomore  society  sys 
tem,  and  the  seniors  showed  to-day  that  they  could 
recognize  honest  criticism.  That's  pretty  fine,  I  say." 

"  You're  pretty  fine,  Joe,"  said  Brockhurst  to  their 
surprise.  "  Well,  it's  good  enough  as  it  is.  It  takes  an 
awful  lot  to  stir  it,  but  it's  the  most  sensitive  of  the 
American  colleges,  and  it  will  respond.  It  wants  to  do 
the  right  thing.  Some  day  it'll  see  it.  I'm  a  crank,  of 
course."  He  stopped,  and  Stover  felt  in  his  voice  a  little 
note  of  bitterness.  "  The  trouble  with  me  is  just  that. 
I'm  impractical;  have  strange  ideas.  I'm  not  satisfied 
with  Yale  as  a  magnificent  factory  on  democratic  busi- 


386  STOVERATYALE 

ness  lines;  I  dream  of  something  else,  something  vision 
ary,  a  great  institution  not  of  boys,  clean,  lovable  and 
honest,  but  of  men  of  brains,  of  courage,  of  leadership, 
a  great  center  of  thought,  to  stir  the  country  and  bring 
it  back  to  the  understanding  of  what  man  creates  with 
his  imagination,  and  dares  with  his  will.  It's  visionary 
—  it  will  come." 


THE   END 


RETURN  TO:      CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 
198  Main  Stacks 


LOAN  PERIOD     1 
Home  Use 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS. 

Renewals  and  Recharges  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  the  due  date. 
Books  may  be  renewed  by  calling  642-3405. 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW. 


SENT  ON  ILL 

MAR  1  9  2004 

U.C.  BERKELEY 

JAN  o  3  20 

3? 

FORM  NO.  DD6 
50M    5-03 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
Berkeley,  California  94720-6000 


GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


800035252^ 


